Atonement
by lostsoul512
Summary: When the return of the Burning Legion threatens the Kaldorei, old feelings must be set aside as an unlikely group of elves are forced into each other's lives once more. Hearts will break, ancient bonds will shatter, and new alliances will be formed. But will it be enough to defeat their greatest enemy all over again? (Book Two in the Betrayal Trilogy)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Welcome back, my lovely friends! I hope you're as excited about this as I am. A huge thanks to all of my returning readers. I would not be here if it wasn't for you guys! xx To any newcomers, it is highly suggested that you check out Betrayal, the first book in this trilogy.**

 **A few things before we get started here. I am going to have a regular posting schedule, so you can expect a new chapter every Monday, unless otherwise specified. As with Betrayal, this story will stay close to the canon lore, but obviously it has been extrapolated upon slightly in the name of many feels. On that same subject, although I have watched the WC3 cutscenes about a thousand times (and taken notes) the dialogue isn't going to line up exactly. Otherwise there wouldn't exactly be much of a point to writing this. And some of that dialogue is just...questionable. Looking at you, Tyra.**

 **Also, a thousand and one thanks right off the bat to Blame the Priest, who has become my official beta and fangirl consultant.**

 **Lastly, the results are in from the poll I took at the end of Betrayal! The results were:**

 **Illidan/Sylvanas: 1**

 **Illidan/OC: 2**

 **Illidan/Tyrande: 6**

 **Illidan/Maiev: 20**

 **Looks like we all know where this is headed...**

 **Anyway, I'm not going to keep you any longer. All rights to Blizzard for Warcraft and its affiliated characters, places, etc. I hope that you all enjoy this second installment in the Betrayal Trilogy, and as always I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the support and inspiration you have all given to me.**

 **Without further ado, I present to you Atonement.**

 **...**

 _ **before**_

For as long as she could recall, Tyrande Whisperwind had believed the shimmering light of the full moon to be a sign that she was doing the right thing. It had offered her faith, peace and the silent approval of her goddess. It had granted her faith when she had none, had given its blessing more times than she could even recall, and had guided her through the darkest, most perilous times of her life.

So now, as she stood under it's welcoming glow, Tyrande clung to each of those feelings, to that belief that had carried her for thousands of years, and tried to force a smile upon her lips. It should have been easy, she knew, for the High Priestess had plenty of things to be smile about. But for some reason, she couldn't seem to make it last for more than a few lingering seconds before it vanished, replaced by a sort of wistfulness that she couldn't seem to shake.

"It's just nerves." A quiet voice spoke from somewhere beside her, startling the priestess out of her own thoughts. Tyrande stole a glance from the corner of her eye at the elf that had appeared there, carefully cradling a handful of pale flowers to pin up into her hair. Shandris Feathermoon did her best to offer a reassuring smile as she came up behind the high priestess. "Everything is going to be wonderful."

"I shouldn't have any nerves," Tyrande retorted, her words perhaps a bit too harsh. "Malfurion and I have been together for nearly ten thousand years, Shandris. Sealing that bond in an official marriage to him should be the easiest decision of my life."

Of course, much of that time, they hadn't actually been together, but neither of the women thought it appropriate to point out. Words alone could not properly convey the deep pain, the agony of loneliness, to which Tyrande had been subjected as Malfurion and the rest of the Druids slumbered. The restless nights spent tossing and turning in the emptiness of her bed, left with only her own ceaseless thoughts and the constant vigil of the moon. She tried to understand, she truly did, but that didn't make it any easier for her to live with, as she had done almost every day for the past thousands of years.

Tyrande quickly forced aside those thoughts. This was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, or something along those lines. And she was really was happy, for after centuries of waiting faithfully, she and Malfurion would finally be joined together in the most binding of ways, the unity of two souls entangled together by their unyielding love, and nothing in all the world could ever come between them. And yet...

And yet there was a void in her heart, a hollowness that she had found herself utterly unable to fill. It was the distinct feeling that something was missing. That, in spite of the fact that it would seem Tyrande Whisperwind had everything, there would always be something more she would never have. She closed her eyes for a long moment, allowed her mind to drift back to days she had thought long forgotten, running wild and free in the woods, with no responsibility, no obligations. She thought that she could still hear the echo of childish laughter, could still see a flash of amber eyes watching her every movement.

Shandris had been flitting around her, working quickly to pin up her long navy tresses with the flowers she had gathered. Tyrande had been standing perfectly still all the way, but she flinched away suddenly, her eyes snapping open widely. Shandris let out a startled gasp, a flower slipping from her hold and falling softly to the ground at their feet. "Are you alright?" She asked hurried.

If Tyrande had heard her at all, she didn't let it show. For a few silent seconds, the young sentinel could do nothing but watch as the priestess blinked away the lingering memories of the past. They were faded, mostly, flickering images that danced across her mind but never quite added up to a full scene. She supposed that was to be expected after so many thousands of years; things would begin to slip away out of her reach. And yet, she thought that if she really, really tried, she could still remember the barest brush of a stolen kiss against her lips, and the breaking of her heart as she was forced into making the hardest decision of her life.

And now, that decision had brought her here. Standing before the temple in a white gown, the hems of which were dampened by the dewy grass, and the love of her life awaiting her just beyond the arch. Awaiting the moment they would be bound together for all eternity, their spirits unified as one.

"I am fine," Tyrande assured her at last. The ghost of a smile crossed her lips as she forced back the last of her hesitation, murmuring a soft prayer under her breath, asking Elune to provide her strength where she seemed to have none. "Like you said, it's just nerves."

…

Everything about that night was beautiful. The temple was filled with druids and priestesses alike, with sentinels and dryads and all the allies of the Kaldorei, including the magnificent Dragon Aspects themselves, come to see their beloved leaders, the pair that had guided them through the darkest days and delivered them back into a peaceful existence, as they were joined together in marriage.

When Tyrande appeared in the archway of the temple, the long trail of her gown billowing out behind her, all eyes fell to her. The moon itself seemed to bend in her direction, bathing her in an ethereal glow, and-

"-And when Malfurion's eyes fell upon her, seeing his lover for the first time in centuries, it was as though time itself grinded to a halt, so enamored it was by the bond that they shared-"

A low growl interrupted the story, echoing off the stone walls and freezing the very air that it pierced. From where she lingered in the doorway, Maiev Shadowsong bit down softly on her bottom lip, her eyes fixed on the caged beast before her.

"Why," came a deep, bellowing voice, the kind of which could chill bones. From somewhere in the darkness, a flash of half-concealed emerald eyes rose in an attempt to meet her own. "Do you insist on tormenting me so relentlessly?"

Maiev scowled back, her knuckles going white from how hard she gripped the stone arch. Thousands and thousands of years spent guarding him, spent ensuring that he would never again threaten the survival of the night elves. She was as much a prisoner here as he was, incarcerated by the oath she had taken. Once, in days that now seemed a lifetime ago, she had loved him with all that she had. But any feelings she may have harbored for him had long since been burned up in the fires of her anger.

 _Because you have tormented me_ , she thought, but said nothing at all. It would have made no difference, and she just didn't feel up to invoking his rage as her biting words had done so many times before. Instead, she merely shrugged and turned away, content to leave him to his solitude and shadows and the misery that had been his sole companion for so many long years.

No, she had no love left for the Betrayer. She had no love left for anything.

...

A new beginning.

That's what this would be. With her fingers resting lightly on the wooden railing of the ship, and her eyes fixed on the seemingly endless waves before her, Jaina Proudmoore took a deep, shaky breath. In her short years, she had been all over these oceans, and still she found herself feeling overwhelmed and unwelcomed by their vastness, by the way they stretched on all around her.

She had never been the sort of person to desire any adventure, never drawn by anything beyond the safety that had been offered to her by the walls of Dalaran and the pages of her spell books. But adventure, it seemed, had found its way to her, and Jaina found that had little choice but to follow along as it dragged her by the hair right into the heart of it all. 

And now, she had been forced to turn away from everything she had ever known. She had watched as her entire world was torn down around her. She had abandoned everything, _everyone_ , she had ever loved, and she had left with what few survivors remained in the wake of destruction that had swept through the once proud kingdom of Lordaeron.

"Don't look back," she whispered to herself, words swallowed up in the wind of the open sea. Jaina closed her eyes against the sudden sting of tears in her eyes, blaming it on the saltwater breeze instead of the surge of memories that flashed across her mind. More than once she had felt the longing to turn right back around and go home, and each time she had to remind herself that there was nothing left for her there. Her home was gone, and there was little point in dwelling on it now, for it certainly wasn't going to bring it back.

All she could do now was move forward. West, the Prophet had said, to Kalimdor. As far as she was concerned, listening to him was the only choice she had. She'd seen what had become of those who hadn't heeded his warnings. Besides, it wasn't as if she had many other options, unless she wanted to end up dead too.

Snapping her eyes open, Jaina shoved aside any and all thoughts of what lay behind her and focused instead on thoughts of her future. She didn't know what awaited her on the distant shores of the foreign land, but she couldn't shake this tugging feeling that whatever it was, it was bigger than she could even dare to imagine. Something was changing, and although she knew not what it was, she got the feeling that she would undeniably be affected. She was going to have to be brave now, to hold herself together if she had any hopes of holding together all those that had dared to follow her. She was going to have to be strong if she was going to lead them all to safety from the horrors they had left behind them.

"A new beginning," she whispered to herself, pushing a hand through her wind-blown locks of golden hair. She could only hope that this one would present to her a happier ending than the last.


	2. Chapter 2

**Atonement was powerful;**

 **It was the lock on the door you closed**

 **Against the past**

 **-Stephen King-**

 _ **one**_

There was something oddly calming about the sound of heavy, plated footsteps. They echoed off the walls of the Barrow, shattered the reverberating silence, ricocheted the caverns, a constant _thud, thud_ , that seemed to perfectly mirror the beating of her own heart. With each movement her armor rang out against itself, alerting all to her presence and the feeling of dread that seemed to come along with it.

For ten thousand years the Warden Maiev Shadowsong had roamed those halls. She knew every inch of them, every twist and turn, every ridge in the well-worn path, every jagged rock along the walls. It was her prison just as much as it was anybody else's, where she had sentenced herself to spend an eternity. All because of _him_. She had sworn an oath to ensure that he was kept here, locked away in the deep confines of the earth where he could never put another life in danger. And if there was one thing that could be said of the Warden, it was that she always kept her promises.

With her chin held high and her eyes narrowed slightly in a scowl, Maiev made her way through the winding corridors, deeper into the depths. The Watchers that she passed quickly stepped aside, bowing their heads in respect, murmuring a soft greeting that was blatantly ignored. The prisoners that she passed knew better than to look up from within their cells, lest they find themselves caught in her icy stare.

Some had heard rumors that once, in a time so long ago that there were only a few remaining elves in all the world that remembered it, the Warden had been a soft and gentle priestess, but it seemed to them impossible for such rumors to be true, not when she was so cold and detached and able to disarm someone with little more than a well placed scowl.

At last she arrived before a set of massive double doors. The Watchers stationed on either side demonstrated the same respect as their sisters had before them, moving to pull open the doors and allow passage into the deepest room in the Barrow. She moved past them wordlessly. As soon as she had entered, the doors slammed shut once more, leaving her alone with the single source of all her suffering, all her anger, all her heartache.

After years and years and _years_ of listening to the sound of those footsteps, Illidan Stormrage knew it well enough to recognize them instantly. He had certainly been granted plenty of time to familiarize with her movements.

The incessant noise finally halted. "Subtlety is not your forte, is it?" He huffed. He wasn't surprised when she didn't deign to respond. Throughout much of his time spent there, Illidan had shut her out completely, refused to acknowledge her, to speak to her, to so much as turn his head in her direction. But eventually he had grown tired of the amount of effort it took to ignore someone who so clearly wanted him to know she was there, if the noisy way that she walked was any indication.

Still, Maiev seemed unphased by him. For a long moment, there was only silence as she glared ahead into the darkness, broken up only by the dull glow of his unseeing emerald eyes. They seemed to be boring straight into her, penetrating through her thick metal armor and sifting through the vacant shell that was encased there. Whatever he was looking for, he most certainly was not going to find it. There was nothing left in her to find.

He wasn't surprised in the slightest when a moment later he heard a sharp voice slice through the darkness that had been his home for so long. He knew that she could feel his abnormal gaze upon her, could see the way the fel energy fixed upon her, and more than anything Maiev hated to be scrutinized.

"Don't speak to me," she barked. Approaching the prison cell in a few more steps, _thud, thud,_ and sliding a bowl of broth inside without another word. She was close enough now that he could hear her breathing, if he really tried to listen, could hear the way it rattled in her chest. Illidan blinked slowly, opened his eyes and tried to pull out any sort of light, any sort of outline to indicate that she was there at all, as he did every day. But as usual, he saw nothing, just the occasional shift of the shadows that engulfed her.

Illidan made no indication of moving. Maiev scowled at him, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she crossed her arms over her chest. "You know," he rumbled deeply. "You're the one who volunteered to spend the rest of your life with me."

"Don't remind me," she scowled, already starting to turn away. She could still remember that day, now so long and somehow such a vivid memory in her head. She had been so angry, so filled with an unmatched rage, clutching to the unconscious form of her brother in the wake of all the destruction. The Sundering, as it had come to be called, had left its mark on the world, and that day was the beginning of it all. For months they had fought to battle back the Burning Legion, the greatest enemy they had ever known.

And just when they had managed to destroy the Well of Eternity, the powerful source of raw magical power that the demon army had been using to enter their world and tear it apart, Illidan had taken it upon himself to use its water to create a whole new Well, to offer the Legion a whole new opportunity to enter their world and destroy them once again.

When Malfurion Stormrage, the leader of the Kaldorei, the great Druid that had rallied them together and led them to victory against the wicked Queen Azshara, had demanded the eternal imprisonment of his own brother for his betrayal, Maiev had been all too eager to see the punishment carried out herself. She was guided by a vicious need to see him brought down for all he had done, for helping the demons, for causing the deaths of their own people, for harming her brother, and for breaking her heart.

And so she had volunteered herself, had offered her service for all of time to the guarding of Illidan Stormrage. Over the decades, and then centuries, her duties as Warden had grown. As the world around them shifted and changed, new enemies arose, and it became her job to oversee their jailing as well. Maiev trained more elves to fight alongside her, in a group that came to be called the Watchers. While the Druids slept, and the Priestesses oversaw the leadership and rebuilding of their people, the Watchers lived in the shadows of the underground, patrolling anyone who had ever posed a threat to them.

And no one, not in the ten thousand painfully long years she had spent here in the Barrows, had ever compared to Illidan.

"You chose to be here," he said then, his low voice sending her crashing back into reality, reminding her of the truth she had lived with for almost her entire life. "If you're so miserable, why don't you just leave?"

Gritting her teeth, she spun around with such ferocity and speed it sent her thick mess of pale pink hair whipping against her face and her heavy armor banging against itself. "I cannot leave so long as you are still drawing breath," she snarled, her anger causing her voice to carry all through the Barrow, seeming to shake the very foundation of the caves. "You betrayed us to the Legion! You tried to kill my brother! You- you-"

His third crime would remain unnamed. She didn't need to say it aloud for him to know what exactly he had done. Neither of them could forget, no matter how she wished that she could. Some nights, Maiev swore she could still feel the lingering ghost of his kisses, of his hands moving lightly over her bare skin. It seemed that no amount of time could erase the memories, no amount of rage could burn them from her mind. She was cursed to remember for all her days the night that he had taken everything from her, her body and soul and heart, and then betrayed her.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly with each breath she took, heaving against the constraints of the plate that encased her. She took a few long inhalations in attempt to call herself once more, to push all of her emotions back where they belonged, where they couldn't bring her any more pain.

"No," she murmured then, her voice having returned to its usual cold vacancy. Illidan must have turned his back on her, because she could no longer make out the green glow through the darkness. "No, Illidan. So long as you remain a prisoner here, then so will I."

...

Tyrande Whisperwind stared out over the balcony at the serene surface of the new Well of Eternity. The waters were unmoving, save the occasional breeze that would send a few ripples dancing over the glowing surface. Her expression was perfectly blank, except for the slight furrow that drew her brows together and the traces of exhaustion that showed in the dark shadows on her face.

Sleep, it seemed, was a blessing the High Priestess was not to be granted. For weeks now, she had been tossing and turning alone in the emptiness of her bed, plagued by thoughts, by fears, by a persistent sense that something was wrong. Maybe she wasn't sure what it was, exactly, but she knew better than to ignore that itching notion that had settled itself into her bones.

For millenniums the Kaldorei had lived in relative peace, working relentlessly to pick up the pieces of their fractured lives in the wake of the great Sundering. And all the while, she had led them with all the grace and diligence she could manage. Under the shadow of Nordrassil the World Tree, she had watched her people rebuild, regain their strength and their dignity.

But now, she had the distinct feeling that something was wrong. Being as long-lived as she was, Tyrande had learned to trust in those feelings. She only wished that she knew the reasoning behind them. She wished she had all of the answers to all of the questions that had been keeping her awake. She wished she could say for certain the night elven people would remain protected, to calm the worries that went hand in hand with all this responsibility.

Above all, she wished Malfurion was there to help her through it.

The mere thought of her husband caused her shoulders to slump. In the beginning, when he had first been whisked away into the Emerald Dream, it had been so hard to understand, so difficult to cope with the fact that he was gone. The war with the Burning Legion had left her hardened, yes, but that did not mean she was any less afraid. She had been just a child in those days, one tasked with the impossible duty of cleaning up the debris of the invasion. And with Malfurion having disappeared from her life, centuries at a time passing without so much as a glimpse of him, all of that had fallen on her shoulders.

Over time, the loneliness with which she was left in his absence had begun to subside. It did little good to dwell on her own pains. Instead, she found ways to force herself to be grateful for what time they did have together, for the gentle kisses and the soft touches and the few brief moments they were granted. And, she thought, somewhere in the depths of her heart there was a shadow of resentment, but she was good at pushing it out. It wasn't a choice, she reminded herself. It was an obligation. Malfurion had not chosen to leave her alone for all these years, so many years she had lost track of them, and yet she felt painfully aware of their span.

The sound of soft footsteps against the floor drew Tyrande out of her out thoughts. The high priestess turned away from the Well, pushing a few loose strands of hair from her face, her silver eyes falling on the slender form of Shandris Feathermoon. The Sentinel looked about as exhausted as Tyrande felt, a weary expression etched onto her face.

"Elune-Adore," Shandris said softly, dipping her chin in a show of respect. Tyrande did her best to muster up a smile for the younger elf. Since the day she had found her, afraid and alone in the wreckage of what had once been her village, the priestess had taken her in as a sort of surrogate child, keeping her safe, loving her as though she were her own daughter. Shandris, however, had proven herself quite capable of taking care of herself, and so she had risen to lead the Sentinels, the band of rangers and warriors that had defended their people through the years.

"You have not been resting," Shandris murmured then, when too much time had passed in silence, her eyes filled with concern for the older woman.

Tyrande merely lifted her shoulder in a small shrug. "It would appear that you have not either," she replied. "Anything of note from the patrol?"

Shandris chewed absently at the insides of her cheeks for a few moments. Tyrande noticed the way her gaze no longer seemed to leave the floor before her, felt a pang of dread in the cavity of her chest. For as long as she could remember, they had lived in peace, with nothing of any serious note ever happening, and so asking the question at all had been a mere formality. But something in the way the ranger carried herself didn't seem quite right, and now the High Priestess was recalling all of her fears again.

"Shandris?" She pushed. "What is it?

The dark haired elf swallowed hard, finally lifted her stare to meet that of the priestess. "Something is here, Tyrande. I- I am not sure what they are. Some strange creatures I have never seen before."

Tyrande let out a hiss of a breath, turned away sharply if only to hide the way her carefully constructed composure fell away. The silence that hung around them was painfully long, the tension so thick Shandris was quite certain she was going to suffocate under it. Still, she forced herself to take a step forward, then another, lifting a hand and placing it lightly onto Tyrande's shoulder.

"There is one more thing, Priestess," she said, her voice thick with trepidation. Tyrande did no more than angle her head, glancing from the corner of her eye at the younger elf. Wordlessly telling her to go on, bracing herself for whatever it might be. But it mattered not; nothing she could have done would have prepared her for the words that fell from Shandris' lips. "They...Well, I believe that they...killed Cenarius."

A muffled gasp managed to free itself from Tyrande's lungs before she was able to choke it back, digging her nails into her palms in attempt to steady herself, to stop from collapsing right where she stood. When at last she found her voice again, her words came out hoarse, but filled with defiance and a fire that could have burnt the entire forest to the ground. "Ready the Sentinels, Shandris. I want to see these newcomers for myself."


	3. Chapter 3

_**three**_

The screams were the worst thing she had ever heard. Jaina wasn't even sure how long she had been walking, or how much distance she had managed to put between herself and the city, but she could still hear the screams, clear as day, and she could see the fires burning brightly against the horizon every time she dared to glance back her shoulder.

"Don't look back," she mumbled to herself, or at least thought she did, although it was hard to be sure over the sound of her own heart and the steady fall of hoof beats. No one had dared say a word, and so instead they had trudged on in an unbearably painful silence. It took all of her will, all the strength that she had left just to remember how to put one foot in front of the other, and still she felt herself stumbling with each step. Her nails were digging into the skin of her palms, until she was certain she would draw blood, and her eyes were red and rimmed with the silent tears that rolled down her cheeks.

Don't look back. It would become a mantra to her, words she repeated over and over, hoping that eventually she would take her own advice, because the only thing behind her now was more pain and regret and sorrow than she knew what to do with, and she was having a hard enough time remembering how to breathe as it was.

But it was so hard not to, when she had been forced to leave the entirety of her heart behind, and she could still hear the screaming, could still smell the smoke of the fires thickening the air. She tried to crane her neck once more, a slight breeze catching her tangled mess of blonde hair and blowing it forward into her face, where they stuck to her rosy, dampened cheeks and blurred her vision.

It mattered not. There was nothing left to see now, nothing but billowing clouds of black smoke that blotted out any view she may have had of the destruction. Jaina turned her gaze forward once more, ran a trembling hand through her hair to push it away from her face and opted instead to draw the hood of her cloak up, concealing her face and obstructing her view of anything except what lay before her.

She just didn't understand where everything had gone wrong. She didn't understand how things had managed to fall apart so suddenly. Now it seemed that no matter how many steps she managed to take, or how many frantic breaths she gulped in through her chapped lips, she could do nothing to erase the images now encapsulated in her mind. Every time she blinked, she could see the way he had stared at her, his expression this terrible combination of pain and loathing. And she could hear even now the way he had murmured her name, like a prayer upon his lips, begging her to stay, because she had promised she would always be at his side, that she would never deny him anything at all.

And yet here she was. She had turned her back, had walked away, had left him to his flames and smoke and death, with little more than a half-hearted apology.

Tears obstructed her vision once more. Somewhere ahead of her, Lord Uther led them on, and somewhere behind her, Stratholme burned, and somewhere in the middle of it all, Jaina felt her heart shattering in her chest all over again.

Don't look back. Don't look back. One foot in front of the other.

Except that soon her crying because too much for her to contain, and a great, heaving sob broke free from her lungs. Finally losing her footing, Jaina slumped forward, her knees throbbing as they collided with the ground, her hands just barely flying out in time to catch herself. She lost all control, allowed the sobs to wrack her body, allowed the tears to fall without trying to hold them back. She thought she felt Arthas' name on her lips, but couldn't be sure if any real words ever actually made it out, or if it was all just unintelligible cries.

Behind her, the sounds of screaming diminished, and Jaina felt her grasp on reality fading, until the world around her blurred and faded to black.

...

Jaina jolted up in bed with such suddenness she nearly tumbled right out, a choking gasp freeing itself from where it had been lodged in her throat. Her shaking fingers gripped at the sheets so tightly she feared she might rip them right in half. Her eyelids fluttered rapidly as she tried to clear away the last remnants of her dreams. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

It took longer than she cared to admit for her to calm her heart back down to a regular pace, and a few extra moments staring at the plain walls of her small chamber before she was able to remember where she was at all.

When she did, she felt the full weight of it all come collapsing down upon her, pushing the air out of her lungs all over again. Apparently, the weeks that had passed had not been enough to ease the memories of that day from her mind. Not that she was particularly surprised, of course. Jaina doubted very much that it would be something she would forget, at least not any time soon. Even now that she had awoken, she thought that she could still hear the distant screams of the helpless and defenseless as they were cut down, all in the name of protection.

Jaina shook her head quickly, eager to banish any lingering thoughts of the wayward prince she had loved for so long. She didn't need them to weigh her down, not anymore. Not when there were so many people depending on her to look after them, to guide them, to keep them safe. She didn't want to think of all she had left behind, because those days were gone, and all she could hope to do was move forward. Maybe she didn't know what she was doing or where she was going, but she knew with absolute certainty that she couldn't look back.

Sliding from her bed, she made her way to her trunk and pulled out some robes, dressing herself slowly. Outside, the sky was dark and endless. She hadn't the slightest idea where they were, and yet somehow it felt as if it was exactly where she was meant to be. In the few weeks since they had established their base here in this strange land, they had made a fair amount of progress in assembling, and if she had her way, Jaina was never going to sleep in a tent again for as long as she lived.

The young mage paused only to run her fingers through her blonde locks, a meager attempt to smooth them out, before departing from her chambers at last. The moment she appeared into the corridor beyond, an armor-clad guard was at her side, rigidly straight with a hand hovering over his sword. "Lady Proudmoore," he greeted. "Is everything alright?"

Jaina managed to muster up a small smile, but it was weak, and her eyes were red from the tears she had shed in her sleep, and her entire demeanor gave away the fact that everything was most certainly _not_ alright. When she spoke, her voice was softer than she ever recalled it being before, and although she tried to tell herself it was merely out of respect for those that were somehow still capable of sleeping, she knew it was just another lie. She might as well have started to compile a list of all the things she told herself just to make it through the day.

She could start with her answer to the guard. "Everything is just fine, thank you." Seeing the hesitation in his gaze, she quickly added, "I am just going to step out for some air."

"You should allow me to accompany you, Lady Proudmoore," he urged.

Jaina lifted a hand quickly, held it up between them. "I assure you I am quite capable of taking care of myself," she responded, and for a moment a bit of her old spark seemed to return to her voice. Perhaps this was the reason the guard bowed his head once more and allowed her to leave without another word of protest.

Turning on her heel, she made her way out of the small building and into the night beyond. The cool air hit her in a refreshing wave, and for a long moment, she was contented just to close her eyes and feel the breeze as it tugged at her robes and hair. She focused on her breathing, focused on clearing her mind and banishing all of the ceaseless thoughts that had plagued her mind for so many days on end. She told herself that it was all going to be okay.

For a moment, she might have even believed it.

Opening her eyes, she began to walk, one foot in front of the other, away from the building, from the soldiers, from everything that tethered her. She couldn't leave, not really, because she had sworn to protect them now, all the lost and homeless left behind in the wake of Arthas' destruction. In a way, she supposed it was her own form of atonement. Maybe she hadn't been there when the people of Stratholme were killed, but that didn't make her feel any less responsible, at least somewhat. Because a part of her would always believe that if she had only tried a little harder, she might have been able to change his mind.

She couldn't leave, not forever, but she could escape for at least a little while. And so she did, making her way into the night. If she put all of her energy and concentration into making her way through the shrubbery and trees, or over the rolling hills without falling and breaking anything, then she would have none left for her own tormenting thoughts. She didn't even worry herself with getting lost, because she would be able to teleport herself back anyway. It was liberating, being able to move about freely, with no real cares or concerns, to forget about all of her troubles for a few precious hours, forget about everything altogether and-

"Oof!"

Jaina stumbled back with a grunt, hands flailing as she did. Apparently, she had been a bit _too_ invested in her concentration, for she had completely failed to pay attention to what was in front of her. And just when she was beginning to think that she was going to end up breaking something after all, a warm hand snapped out to grab her by the arm and pull her back to her feet.

"Thrall," she breathed, a blush crossing her pale cheeks at her own clumsiness. As she regained her footing and smoothed out her robes, she glanced up at the towering orc through her lashes, felt her throat constrict when she met his bright blue eyes.

Their initial meeting had been brief and, if she was being honest, less than congenial. When she had encountered the elusive and mysterious prophet, the last thing she had expected was to be shoved into a forced alliance with an orc. She was supposed to hate him, she knew, because he was an orc and she was a human, and they had hated each other since the moment the first one had stepped through the Dark Portal into Azeroth.

But, Jaina thought, if she hated Thrall, it would be because of the actions of his people. And if he hated her, it would be for the same reasons. Her mind flashed, just briefly, to her dream of Stratholme, the burning and the screaming. No, she did not think she wanted to be held accountable for the action of every human in the world, and something told her that Thrall didn't want to be held accountable for the actions of every orc.

"Jaina," he said, his low, gruff voice bringing her back into the reality of the moment. "What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

The human girl knitted her brows together into a slight frown. "I could ask the same of you," she replied shortly. "If you are worried about my ability to fend for myself, I assure you-"

Thrall lifted his hands defensively, and she could have sworn she saw the corners of his lips twitch into a slight smirk. "I am not questioning your capabilities, Miss Proudmoore," he assured her. "I only meant to ask why you aren't trying to get some rest."

That, too, she could have turned around on him, but she decided against it. Instead, she turned to look out over the hill upon which they stood. The view was breathtaking, the seemingly endless forests spread out before them, both beautiful and intimidating. She could make out the buildings of her base camp, and realized just how far she had gone, wondered just how long she had been walking.

Suddenly, Jaina became overly aware of the silence that had stretched out between them, but when she worked up the courage to steal a glance at Thrall from the corner of her own cerulean eyes, she saw that his own gaze was transfixed on the view as well. Clearing her throat and crossing her arms tightly over her chest, she murmured, "Do you suppose you will miss it?"

Judging by the shadowed frown that overtook his face, Thrall was confused by her words. "What?" He asked eventually. "Being a slave?"

A violent crimson blush overtaking her face, Jaina turned her face away from him once more, wishing for the comfort of her cloak to hide herself away. "That isn't what I meant," she mumbled. "I just meant...I don't know. Home."

For a long moment, Thrall said nothing, and Jaina felt stupid for even asking in the first place. She was no good at conversation; she belonged in her room with her books, not here leading people and making unlikely pacts with orcs. But then he finally looked back to her, his expression having shifted to something more composed. "I have no home," he said. There were no real emotions behind the words, as if he was simply stating any other fact, as if he was telling her that the grass below their feet was green and not that he was as lost and alone and afraid as she was. "I must create a home for myself, and for my people. We deserve that much."

Then, quietly, "What about you?"

Jaina bit down anxiously on her bottom lip and allowed her eyes to fall closed. When she did, she could envision clearly the tall buildings of Dalaran, their cobblestone roads and violent roofs. But Dalaran had been destroyed now, nothing remaining but more rubble, more pain. She thought of the Capital City of Lordaeron, of the decorated corridors of the palace where she had spent her free time. She thought of Arthas, his warmth and his light and his arms encircling her, holding her to his chest and pressing his lips to her forehead as he told her that he loved her.

Her eyes snapped open quickly. She shook her head a little, forced herself to meet his careful, questioning stare. "I…" She said slowly, her voice trembling as she did. "I have no home either."

…

Tyrande stared up with wide eyes at the demon lord that towered over her, his lips curled back in a malicious grin. Her hands trembled as they clutched at her bow, but she dared not look away, would not back down even in the face of certain death. The Sentinels that flanked her were shaking with fear, but doing their best to keep their expressions brave.

Ten thousand years. For ten thousand years Tyrande had worked to lead, to rebuild, to protect her people. And she had believed, had _truly_ believed that the threat of the great and terrible Burning Legion was beyond them once and for all. The war against them had damn near destroyed them all, and she had really believed that they had defeated them once and for all.

She should have known better.

The demon lord Archimonde peered down at the small group of elves before him, his tail flicking behind him, his emerald eyes seeming to burn straight through them. "Elves," he scoffed. Somehow, Tyrande found the strength and courage to straighten up, to square her shoulders. The only result was a huff of a laugh from the monstrous beast. "Foolish girl. Your kind will not deter us again. The Legion will return, and this time, we will claim this forsaken world as our own."

It was over before she could even process what had happened. All at once, a frenzy of undead came lunging forth from behind him and tackled the Sentinels to the ground. Tyrande barely had time to free a single arrow from her quiver before they were dead, the skeleton creatures tearing into their flesh with claws and teeth, leaving only mangled and mutilated corpses behind.

Stumbling back in horror, the priestess just barely managed to choke back a strangled cry as she watched her allies perish in a matter of seconds. Then they turned on her, their hollow eyes watching her with a mindless yearning, and as she backed away, she nearly tripped and fell right into their clutches. "Elune," she whispered hoarsely. "Grant me strength." In an instant, Tyrande felt a wave of serenity move through her, and right before the demon's eyes, she disappeared into the shadows.

Archimonde's dark laughter subsided, his sadistic smile turning instead to a deep scowl. "Dammit!" He snarled, whirling around towards one of the demons at his side. "You let her get away!" He whipped his head from side to side, sniffed at the air, but it was all in vain. The elf girl had escaped, at least for the time being.

Letting out an animalistic growl, he turned away from the rest of his followers. "Find her," he demanded roughly. "Find her, dammit, and kill her."

From the safety of the bushes, concealed by the blessing of the night that her goddess had bestowed upon her, Tyrande watched in consternation as he retreated into the woods, the lifeless army trailing after him. Only when she was certain it was safe to move did she dare to do so, and when she did, she ran with every last ounce of haste she could muster, driven by her panic and her hatred.

The Burning Legion had returned. Her worst nightmares had somehow managed to seep forth into reality. The most ancient enemy of her people had come to finish the Kaldorei off, to end them once and for all.

Well, if it was a fight they wanted, it was a fight they would get. She was not about to go down without giving her all, without doing everything in her power to assure that the Legion failed once more in their mission for conquest. They had done it before, and they could do it again. But if they were to rise victorious once more, it was going to take all that they had, and that could mean only one thing.

It was time to wake the Druids.


	4. Chapter 4

_**four**_

The barrows were generally quiet, the Watchers opting to keep a mostly wordless vigil over the prisoners they were sworn to guard, but as Maiev made her way down the long corridor, each plated steps ricocheting, they seemed unnaturally silent. Her elongated ears twitched as they tried to pick out a single sound in the dimness, even the scuffling of armor or the distressed sighs of a prisoner, but everything was muffled and inaudible.

Still, she thought little of it, just kept on walking, each step bringing her closer to _him_. For as long she could remember, the mere thought of Illidan had been enough to drive her rage, to spark a fire in her veins that burned straight to her heart and set it ablaze. But as she rounded the corner and her eyes fell upon the heavy door of his prison chamber, Maiev couldn't help but feel that those flames had dimmed somehow. Those flames, which had been there for so long they had become a part of her, were wavering and flickering and leaving her insides feeling cold.

Her mind drifted back to the conversation she'd had with Naisha, in the training room a few days past. Maiev had found herself dwelling on that far more than she cared to admit, replaying the scene and breaking it down as if it held some great meaning she had yet to uncover. She had been so quick to assert the belief that Illidan could never repent for what he had done. He was the Betrayer, and there was nothing in all the world he could do to make up for the crimes he had committed against the Kaldorei.

So why, then, was she still thinking about it? She had carried this belief, this burden, like a torch for thousands upon thousands of years, and it alone had guided her way through life. Illidan's betrayal may have hurt her more than anything in all her eternity could ever do again, but it had also given her a purpose. Without him here, she had nothing. No direction, no duty, no meaning.

Without him, she was nothing.

With shaking fingers Maiev pulled the key free from where it rested below her breastplate, a thin golden chain that hung around her neck. It had stayed there from the moment it had been given to her, safely out of sight and, she realized suddenly as she slipped it back into place, close to her heart.

The room was dimly lit and quiet as ever, the thick shadows only broken up by the faint illumination of the spiraling, demonic tattoos that had been seared into his skin. Maiev lingered near the doorway for a moment too long, but finally forced herself to move closer to the cage.

The sound of her footfalls gave her away, just as they always did, because Illidan had memorized that sound long ago. "I was wondering when you would come," he murmured lowly. Something about his tone sent a shiver running down her spine, and not for the first time she was grateful he couldn't actually see her, for she knew he would have noticed it all too easily. His unnatural green eyes were trained on her now, glinting in the darkness of the cell, and although she knew he was unable to really make out her form, she still felt incredibly, pathetically exposed.

She had no sooner opened her mouth to speak, whatever half-hearted and biting remark she could think up, than Illidan had moved to the edge of his cage, hands gripping onto the bars, chains rattling with his movements. "What are you doing here, Maiev?" He asked then. She felt overly aware of the fact that he had dared to speak her name, something he seldom ever did now. It rolled off his tongue in the most sickly sweet way possible, made her heart flutter in her chest as it had not done since the days of her youth, when he had said her name in much the same way as he did not, in a voice that seemed to hold back some unimaginable feeling.

She should have lied, of course. Could have lied with ease as to why she had felt it necessary to come and check on him in the dead of night. But she was tired of lying. She was tired of pretending that some part of her heart, however safeguarded it may have become, still dared to beat only for him.

So, when she finally found her voice to speak, the most she could think to say was, "I wanted to see you." Her whisper was hoarse, and the words were filled with a sick neediness that filled her up with a fresh wave of self-loathing.

Whatever answer Illidan had been expecting from her, that was most certainly not it. But the surprise he felt at her quiet confession was nothing whatsoever compared to what came next. Illidan strained to listen, heard the sound of her arm shifting with her unseeable movements, heard the loud groan of ancient hinges, and then, suddenly, felt the jolting warmth of fingers brushing against his cheek.

"Maiev-" he breathed, but was instantly shushed.

"Don't," she said quickly, the word somehow soft and yet still holding a firm warning. "Please. Don't say anything. I just- I wanted to...just…"

Since she was seemingly unable to formulate any coherent thoughts, she opted instead to let her actions speak for her, and so she rose up, and she pressed their lips together in a delicate, hesitant kiss.

Illidan's entire body went rigid, each muscle tensing up one by one as he tried to make sense of what was happening here. But with her mouth working tentatively against his own, trying to coax out some sort of reaction, it was impossible to have any logical thoughts at all. So long...it had been so long, too long without this, without even the slightest offer of contact with another. Illidan felt his control slipping quickly away. In the end, he gave up on trying to fight it, and instead allowed these old, forgotten feelings to take him over entirely.

So he gave up entirely on trying to think at all, and he let instinct take over. He slung an arm around her waist, the other tangling into her mess of pale hair, and he kissed her back with all the passion and want he could muster up. The sheer force of it sent her crashing back against the bars, a loud clang ringing out. The sound made Illidan realize just how many layers there were between them, just how cold she felt in his embrace. His fingers moved then to the buckles that held her armor in place, and as he traced his tongue across her bottom lip, requesting entrance, he tugged roughly at the straps, let the pieces of her armor fall away one by one, crashing against the stone floor as they did.

Maiev's own hands were clutching into him desperately, grasping at his shoulders, his biceps, dragging her nails down the bare skin of his back and shivering at the way it drew a low groan up from within him. Soon he had stripped her down completely and left her exposed before him as she had not been in many years. She felt a blush creep across her cheeks. She wanted very badly to wrap her arms around herself and try to hide from him, but he was holding both of her hands above her head in a single one of his, and he was trapping her against the wall of the cage, and so she had no choice but to allow him to roam her body with his fingertips, relearning the curves of her body. His mouth had latched onto the sensitive flesh of her neck, nipping and licking and kissing in such rapid succession she hardly had time to tell them all apart. They blurred into one endless motion that sent her stomach knotting up and her legs threatening to give out under her.

"I have waited a long time for this," Illidan confessed, words breathed into her ear as his hand gripped onto her hip. Before she could manage a reply of her own, he had kissed her again, and so instead of speaking she replied only with the frenzied movements of her hands all over him, of her lips against his, and of her hips, as they bucked forward into his hold.

That was, apparently all the permission he needed. Maiev closed her eyes and focused entirely on his touches, which continuously switched between rough and gentle. She wasn't sure which was more painful. Her anticipation grew, building inside of her, so much desire that she had tried to ignore. There was no ignoring it now, no pushing it down where she could pretend it wasn't real. Not when his hands were all over her, and his kisses were searing her flesh, and his-

Maiev's eyes snapped open widely, the darkness of her chamber filling her vision and swallowing up her dreams. Her ears were ringing from the overwhelming silence left in the absence of her own breathy sighs, and her skin was burning with the lingering memories of Illidan's touches and the way he had pressed himself against her.

Cursing under her breath, she sat up quickly, too quickly, for the jerking movement send her head spinning. Or perhaps that was just the flickering remnants of her dream that had left her so breathlessly dizzy. Maiev let out a low groan, pushing her hair away from her flushed face and throwing back her thin sheets.

What was _wrong_ with her? Her heart was fluttering in her chest in a way it hadn't for as long as she could recall, and every time she dared to blink she could vividly picture the way Illidan had eased her against the bars of the cage and pushed himself up into her, and in some sick and twisted way, she felt as though she was clinging to those images. She should not have had these thoughts, these _feelings_ which she had denied for so long, for a creature so undeserving as the Betrayer.

And yet, the fact remained that she was sitting on the edge of her bed, blushing and panting over some imagined scene in her head. It was blurring with her own flashbacks of a single, perfect night spent under the warm glow of Elune, a night long past but never forgotten. Not a single detail had faded from her mind of the night that Illidan had first claimed her as his own, a claim to her heart that no one but him had ever held. She had loved him then more than she could stand. She had loved him with everything she had, and she had given her everything to him. She had loved him then-

-and she loved him now.

Maiev slid off the bed, her feet hitting the cool stone floor. She tugged at her gown, smoothing it out as she threw a glance over her shoulder. Her armor rested in the corner, each piece laid out and leaning against the wall. Her sanctuary. Her protection. Her shell.

She turned back towards the door and slipped out into the corridor beyond.

…

The weight of it in her hands was astonishingly heavy. Both of her hands wrapped around it, cradling it carefully as she stared at it like it might grant her all the answers to all her questions, like it might take away all of her uncertainties.

"Tyrande," came a soft voice from beside her somehow both gentle and urging all at once, and when she stole a glance from the corner of her eye, she saw Shandris offering her a look of reassurance.

The priestess nodded slowly. She felt as though she was carrying the weight of all the world on her shoulders. Orr perhaps in her bare hands, manifested in the form of this single object. Then, carefully, the muscles of her arms straining with the motions, she lifted the Horn of Cenarius to her lips, and she breathed until there was no air left in her lungs. The sound rang out loud and clear, a deep bellow that seemed to shake the very earth upon which she stood. It crescendoed around them, and then slowly faded out.

"Now what?" Shandris asked, her whispered words nearly inaudible.

Tyrande lowered the horn with shaking hands, drawing in a deep breath. "Now," she murmured, her own voice a deadly sort of calm that seemed to clash with the feelings of panic that had been welling up inside of her, "We wait."

…

And so they did, and the hours disappeared until the edges of night had chased away the remainder of the day and flooded the sky with black. More than once, Tyrande wondered if maybe she had done it wrong, the use of the horn. Maybe she didn't possess the ability to use it, because she had not been trained by Cenarius. From where she sat with her back against the trunk of a tree, she pulled her knees in a little tighter to her chest and rested her chin atop them. She felt very much like a child again, unsure of herself, of her powers. It had been a long time since Tyrande's faith in what she was capable of had ever wavered, and so she quickly closed her eyes and focused on her breathing as she called out silently to her goddess for the guidance she so clearly needed.

Night overtook the forests, the glinting starlight filtering in through the canopy of the trees. It didn't matter, really. Tyrande was good at waiting. She had waited this long for him, and she would wait longer if she had to. He had promised her once, so very long ago, that he would always return to her, and that if she ever really, truly needed him, she only had to call for him, and he would be there.

Well, now she needed him, and she had called to him, and so she had to put her faith in the belief that he would come, just as he had promised her.

Then, suddenly, she felt a hand settle onto her shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. She tilted her chin up, her eyes widening and a shaky, relieved laugh pushing itself past her lips as her gaze fell upon the familiar face of Malfurion Stormrage. He looked exactly as she remembered, the same man that had visited her in her sleep to remind her that it was all going to be okay, except now a pair of thick antlers twisted up from his skull. Still, she barely even registered them, because they mattered not. This was her husband, her best friend, the man she had loved for her entire life, and so she didn't think to notice them for more than a fleeting moment.

Tyrande was on her feet in an instant, a smile tugging at her lips, all manner of self control and composure vanishing all at once as she threw her arms around his waist, her face nestled into his shoulder. "Malfurion," she breathed, surprised at the giddiness in her own voice. He gave a deep chuckle, taking her up in his own arms and crushing her against his chest. "Malfurion, I've missed you so."

"I know, love," he whispered in return. His fingers brushed idly through her hair, his lips pressed against the top of her head. "I know. I've missed you too, more than you can possibly know."

For a long time, they were content just to stand there, tangled up in each other's embraces, suspended in silence and illuminated by the pale light of night. Tyrande hadn't even realized just how much she had missed him until he was there with her again, to hold her close and take away her worries, at least for a few precious moments.

But too soon, she was forcing herself to pull away, although he kept his own hands lingering on her hips. Through dark lashes she looked up at him and said softly, "I would not have woken you if it was not absolutely necessary."

Malfurion's long eyebrows knit together in a slight frown, his eyes filling with something dark and contemplative. "In the dream," he spoke slowly, carefully, like he was afraid even to bring it up and remind her of all the time he had been forced to spend away from her side, from her arms and her bed. When she gave no reaction, he continued. "In the dream, I felt our lands being corrupted. I felt the darkness, growing..." Something like pain flashed in his own glowing eyes, but he blinked it away quickly, forcing himself to refocus on Tyrande. "You were right to wake me, love."

He offered her the most reassuring look he could manage, his hand sliding to the small of her back while the other moved to the base of her neck, holding her in place against him as he bowed his head to press a careful kiss to the corner of her mouth. His hesitation was surprising; after a lifetime spent together she thought he should have felt more comfortable with this. But then, it hadn't really been spent together, and although she undeniably loved him, there was an unspoken distance between them now.

Still, she shoved those thoughts aside as he pulled away, the feeling of his kiss still tingling upon her lips. "What has happened, Tyra?" He asked her quietly, tentative words meant only for her to hear. "What is wrong?"

She swallowed hard in a weak attempt to choke back the fear that welled up in her chest as she recalled the sight of Archimonde towering over her. "It's...it's the Legion," she whispered hoarsely. "They have returned."

Malfurion have a heavy sigh, moving away from her and blinking for a moment longer than necessary. When he opened his eyes, it seemed as though he was staring off at something Tyrande herself could not see, some vision that existed only in his own mind. After a long, drawn out moment, he addressed her once more, his expression filled with far more turmoil. "We must awaken the rest of the Druids, then. We have beaten the demon army before, and we can do so again. We have to stop them from ever reaching Nordrassil."

Tyrande nodded sharply in agreement. She had been afraid, far more than she would ever bring herself to admit, but having Malfurion at her side once again had offered to her a renewed sense of hope and faith. They would survive, as they had always done. They would persevere and defend their forests and their people, as they had always done. So long as they stood unified, there was nothing that could threaten them. There was nothing that could come between them.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: First off, I am so sorry for missing my post date. I am having massive amounts of drama in my real life atm, and just ugh. BUT. I just want you all to appreciate the tears that I cried during this chapter, and the amount of times I listed to Heavy in Your Arms, and just ugh. I have nothing else to say. Except I think you need some lyrics. I think you need to feel the feelings. Enjoy, darlings.**

 **...**

 _ **This will be my last confession**_

 _ **I love you never felt like any blessing**_

 _ **Whispering like it's a secret**_

 _ **Only to condemn the one who hears it**_

 **...**

 _ **five**_

Tyrande felt a shiver inch up her spine as she urged Ash'alah on further into the deep, darkened depths of the Hyjal Barrows. She wasn't exactly sure how long they had been there, down below the earth, but something most certainly had her on edge. She kept her gaze straight ahead as Malfurion led them further, focused on the feeling of Ash'alah's great shoulders moving with each step the tiger took. The elven woman reached out to rub her fingers against the silky fur behind the cat's ear, a small reassurance that she was safe. They had spent thousands of years looking out for each other, and Tyrande was grateful now for the warmth that she offered.

The barrows were endless, the natural corridors twisting and turning as they descended deeper into the mountain. None of them dared to speak, not Tyrande or Malfurion or the small party of Sentinels that served as their escorts. The voyage was utterly silent; even the few times they passed by a lone Watcher standing guard at her post, she did nothing more than dip her chin in a sort of salute to the passing group.

Tyrande felt achingly aware of every second that passed by, of each beat of her heart and breath from her lips. But more than any of this, she felt aware of the way she couldn't seem to stop her mind from wandering in directions that were most certainly better left unexplored. The priestess was no fool, and neither were the others that accompanied her. Each of them knew all too well what, or _who,_ was contained here within these very hollow halls. It was a story passed down through the ages, spoken in whispered words. It was a memory she was forced to recall every time she gazed upon the shimmering surface of the Well that they guarded. It was a nightmare that had plagued her for months and months, when she had tossed and turned in an empty bed and saw the flash of emerald eyes in the back of her mind.

Blinking hard, she tried to chase away those memories now, tried to steady her suddenly jagged breathing. Her fingers fisted into Ash'alah's matted fur, trying to stop her mind from spinning and her thoughts from drifting back to the lazy and innocent days of her childhood, memories she had always been torn between trying to cling to and trying to push aside.

It seemed that nothing slipped past Malfurion, though. He appeared a moment later at her side, stealing a glance at her from the corner of his eye. She hated the way his expression filled with concern when she was quite certain the cause of her sudden shift in mood was obvious enough for him to sense. Even still, he asked her if she was alright, and even though the words were soft Tyrande felt like they held some unspoken accusation.

Telling herself that it was only in her own mind, she nodded quickly. "I'm alright," she assured him. When still he did not look convinced, she turned her gaze straight ahead once more. "Come on," she snapped. "Let us be done with this business and get back to the surface." _And far away from here_ , she added silently, _so I can forget all about Ill_ -

"Shan'do Stormrage," one of the Sentinels spoke up, demanding their attention. "Which way?" The companions had reached a split in the path; one way curved down further into the depths of the barrow while the other led to a great stone gate, closed off and protected by a pair of Watchers. This, Tyrande knew, was the entrance to the prisons, the heavily guarded part of the barrows that served as the domain of the Watchers, under the close supervision of the Warden Maiev Shadowsong. It had been a long, long time since the High Priestess had ventured down there, and the sight of it sent a shiver moving down her spine.

"Left," Malfurion replied, tugging at the reins of his own massive stag. "This will lead us to the Druids." The others followed him closely as he continued his descent.

All except Tyrande. She found herself frozen, motionless, trapped in place with her gleaming eyes staring at the gates that towered over her. Once upon a time, in a land that no longer existed except in her memories, they had stood before another gate, that of the Eternal Palace, with the threat of the Legion breathing down their neck. It had taken all of them, all three of them working together, in order to walk away victorious, even if time had warped the truth. She remembered it all now so vividly it was as if not a single day had passed, remembered the adrenaline and the fear and the defiance that had driven them. She remembered the soothing warmth that had filled her body as the blessed waters of Elune washed over her, healed her from the wounds inflicted on her by the Highborne.

Illidan had saved her life, and she had left him here to die.

"Tyrande." The sound of her own name sent her crashing back into reality, and when she managed to tear her gaze from the gates, she saw Malfurion standing before her. He was frowning deeply, his eyes filled with a silent understanding and a slight irritation. "Let's go."

She opened and closed her mouth a few times before she was able to actually find her voice, and when she did speak, the most she could manage to choke out was a small, quiet whisper of, "Illidan." The way Malfurion's face fell at the mention of that name, which had gone unspoken for so many centuries damn near broke her heart, and it hung in the air around them, this weight that threatened to crush her.

When he replied, it was sudden, sharp and biting. "Absolutely not."

In spite of everything, she felt a surge of irritation move through her. It had been a long time since anyone had dared to tell her what to do, and she didn't take kindly to the idea, not when she had proven time and time again that she was quite capable of taking care of herself and everyone else. A deep scowl overtaking her graceful features, she straightened up and squared her shoulders. "He helped us defeat the demons before, Malfurion," she snapped coolly. "He could prove a powerful ally against them again-"

"He betrayed us all!" Malfurion roared, cutting her off, his voice echoing in the caverns so loudly that from the corner of her eye Tyrande saw a few of the Sentinels flinch. "He sold us out, caused the deaths of our people, and- and if it wasn't for his insistence on creating the new Well of Eternity, perhaps the Legion would not be here in the _first_ place."

Tyrande was clutching to the reins of her tiger so tightly her hands were trembling. She understood what he was saying, of course, but all she could think of was that day Illidan had been locked away, how he had screamed and cried and pleaded for her to stay, to help him, to save him. And she had turned away without so much as a single glance over her shoulder. So in a way, she supposed, she had betrayed him too. He had been her closest friend, and she had left him without even a single goodbye.

And the fact of the matter was that he truly _could_ serve as an ally against this coming army. He had fought the demons before. He understood them and how they worked; he knew how to take them down. If she went to him now, freed him from the eternal bindings to which he had been condemned, then he could assist them in the brewing battle, and she could atone for what she had done to him.

She lifted her gaze once more to meet that of Malfurion, found him watching her with carefully guarded eyes. "That beast must never be set free," he sneered, holding her stare, searching for some shift in her emotions.

He found it, too, the pang of sorrow that moved through her, could practically see straight through her. He knew her entirely too well, regardless of all the time they had been apart, and so he knew that Tyrande had not been able to forget quite so easily the way things had been before, when it was the three of them and not a care in the world. No passing of time, however insurmountable, would be enough to fully heal the wounds on her heart from what had happened between them all, especially not if she insisted on tugging at the stitching every so often just to peer inside at the mess of emotions and see how long it would take to unravel them.

"He is your brother," she said then, one final attempt to sway him, her voice surprisingly low and her eyes dropping, no longer able to meet his, unable to stand the look he was giving her.

But Malfurion was unmoved. "Be that as it may, he is far too dangerous" he retorted in an unnaturally emotionless tone, not even a flicker of anger. "No, Tyrande. Illidan cannot be freed. I forbid it."

A wave of fury washed through her. The priestess narrowed her eyes and gave a sharp tug at Ash'alah's reins, rearing the saber to the side. "Only my goddess may forbid me anything," she snarled, and before he could so much as call out her name, she had trotted off away from him, until the shadows had swallowed her up entirely.

…

If he had to describe the aura that was Maiev Shadowsong, it would be like a fire. Wildly free, chaotically frantic and hopelessly destructive, and still casting light into every corner of the room, even the ones everything else was scared to touch.

She had appeared in the chamber some time ago. Without the telling sound of her metallic steps to alert him of her approach, he had been startled by the brightness of her aura, the flickering reds that had seeped in under the door and were now content to throw themselves every which way. She hadn't said a word, just lingered near the door and glowed brighter than he remembered her glowing for a long, long time.

Without her armor to shield her, Maiev felt weak and exposed, and so she had opted to wrap her arms tightly around herself, covering the white gown that she wore, hiding the way that it clung to her curved hips and narrow waist as if he was able to see it anyway. She stayed by the door so that, on the off chance she came to her senses and decided to run, she wouldn't have as far to go. But she didn't move and she didn't speak, and neither did Illidan, and so for some time they merely existed in this strange and endless quiet.

It was Maiev that cracked first. Illidan wasn't exactly surprised by this; a lifetime in darkness and solitude had given him a terrifyingly impressive patience. She didn't fully close the distance between them, but she did take a few steps forward, soft enough that he had to strain to hear them. But still she said not a single word, and so in the end it was Illidan who shattered the heavy silence, if only because his curiosity had gotten the better of him and he wanted to know what could have possibly brought her here so suddenly that she hadn't even bothered to hide herself away inside her steel shell.

"It has been a long time," he mused. Even though his voice was low, it still caused her to jump, her ruby red aura wavering. He couldn't see the way she drew her brows together, but he could sense the confusion that permeated from her, so he added, "You aren't wearing your armor. It has been a long time, has it not?"

Maiev's frown only deepened, her mouth falling open a little. "How did you-" she began, but snapped her mouth closed before she could finish. It didn't matter how he knew. Of course he knew. Illidan always knew everything when it came to her. "Yes," she said instead, nodding a little. She blinked her eyes for a moment longer than necessary and tried to recall the last time Illidan would have seen her dressed in something other than her armor. The night in the clearing didn't count, she supposed, since she certainly hadn't been wearing much of anything then. No, it would have been...

The party. The royal ball at the Eternal Palace to which Illidan had taken her. She recalled even now the gentle silks of her gown against her bare skin and the floating feeling brought on by too many glasses of wine. What should have been a dream come true had turned into her worst nightmare. That party had been the beginning of the end for her, for all of them, the pivotal turning point upon which everything had changed.

Maiev swallowed hard and tried to chase away the memories, but it seemed they weren't interested in leaving her alone now. They mingled in her mind with the remnants of her dream and left her feeling a little more breathless than she liked. "Yes," she said again, the single word sounding more like a choking gasp. "It has been a long time, hasn't it?" She paused, then, bit down gently on her bottom lip. Found some courage buried in her that she hadn't even known she possessed, and dared to say, "Not so very long that you have forgotten?"

Illidan let out a huff. Through the darkness that surrounded them both she saw his fel tattoos shifting with his movements. "I have not forgotten anything," he assured her. "I have had little else to do but remember, I'm afraid."

Maiev gave up on biting her lip and instead began chewing at the insides of her cheeks. Some small part of her hoped that perhaps the pain would be enough to snap her out of whatever spell she was so clearly under and bring her back to her senses. She shouldn't have been here, wasn't supposed to be here, and she swore she could feel herself starting to panic when his voice broke through her thoughts once again, clear as day, "Why are you here?" It was a valid question, of course, asked at such a perfectly precise moment. Because that was the _only_ question, wasn't it? For years, she had hated him, and he had hated her, and that was all there was to it. But there was something else, too, and it had been buried so far down she had nearly managed to forget its existence all together. Before they had hated each other, there had been some other feeling entirely. Maiev remembered it, and if what he said was true, then Illidan remembered it too.

And that was the answer, the reason she was here. Because that feeling had never really, truly gone away. She had carried it all these years, her own silent burden, her deep infatuation for him and him alone. And every time he dared to meet her eyes, it became a little been harder to pretend.

He was still waiting for an answer, she realized, and although she herself may have had one, it was most certainly not the one that she wished to give to him. She pushed a hand roughly, shakingly through her messy hair, tilted her head to the side a little and tried to make out his outline in the shadows. "Do you ever wonder," she began instead. She nearly lost her strength halfway through, but forced herself to go on. She would not allow him to reduce her to some stuttering, naive little girl, not when she had worked so hard to get to where she was. "Do you ever wonder what would have happened if the Legion had not shown up?"

"Of course," he replied instantly. "Haven't we all? I like to imagine that I wouldn't be locked up here with you, at the very least." There was a trace of amusement in his voice that Maiev hadn't heard in an achingly long time, and it alone was enough to send her hurtling back through time, replaying across her mind a million memories.

Shaking her head to clear them away, she quickly snapped, "I'm being serious, Illidan."

"You are always serious, Warden. I would expect nothing else from you" he reminded her, all low and velvet. She told herself repeatedly that she was imagining it, that it was the darkness playing tricks on her, that she was looking for something that simply wasn't there, because she was so, so tired of being alone. She told herself any excuse she could think up, and still she couldn't help but cling to the notion that maybe, just maybe, whatever she had held in her heart for all this time, whatever feelings for him remained, that he had held onto them too. She had to believe that there was at least some piece of him that had loved her, even a sliver or a fraction of his heart that had beaten in her honor. She had felt it in the way that he had held her that night, in the way he had trailed his lips and his hands across her skin and whispered her name.

When she spoke again, her voice was far too timid, certainly no longer fitting for the fiery woman she had become. Still, Illidan found that it reminded him of who she had been once, and as he saw the violent reds of her aura dim to something a little gentler, he thought he felt the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. The motion was unfamiliar to him now. "Do you ever think about us, Illidan?" She asked, mumbled words that were nearly inaudible. As soon as they had left her lips, she longed to snatch them back, but she couldn't, and so she had to settle for wrapping her arms around herself instead, in the absence of the armor to protect her.

She half-expected some sort of biting, sarcastic reply, or even for him to lash out in a fit of anger. She did not expect his quiet confessions. "From time to time," he admitted. There was a bitterness there, like he knew he wasn't supposed to think about it. But then, Maiev knew that she wasn't supposed to think of it either, and yet here they were. In the grand scheme of things, it was likely the least of their crimes.

His confession had ignited something new in her, a newfound bravery that urged her forward a few more steps. Maiev found herself standing before the cage, close enough that she could reach her hands through the bars, if she truly wanted to. It was harder than she cared to admit to make herself keep her arms crossed over her chest. If Illidan was bothered by her approaching, he didn't say anything, but he didn't move any closer either. Maiev lifted her hands to grip at the metal bars that lie between them, felt the cool steel against her palms. She forced herself to take a few careful breaths; she felt overly aware of the way his vibrant green eyes watched her from across the small space, and wondered not for the first time what it was he saw.

Well, she had come this far, and there was little use in stopping now. "Do you think," she whispered, summoning up whatever bravery she had left, "that maybe you and I could have-"

"Warden Shadowsong!"

A sharp, desperate voice drew her right out of the moment, sent her crashing back into reality so quickly she was amazed she didn't shatter on impact. Ripping her body away from the cage, she whirled around towards the sound of the voice. The door to the chamber had been pushed open, and in the archway stood one of her Watchers, panting rapidly and trembling in place.

"What is it?" Maiev hissed through her teeth.

"The- the Barrows have been breached," the girl gasped out. Maiev felt every muscle in her body go rigid. _Impossible_. Ten thousand years had passed since she had inherited control of this domain, and never once in all that time had anything ever threatened them. As if she could see the disbelief on her commander's face, the girl nodded frantically. "It is true, Warden. We are under attack-"

The words had no sooner tumbled forth from her lips, than they were swallowed up in a sudden cry of agony, and the Watcher's body crumbled forward, hit the stone floor with a sickening thud. Maiev couldn't help it; a scream of terror ripped free from her lungs at the sight of her fallen companion. She staggered forward to their side, but she only made it a few steps before she skidded to a halt, finding herself suddenly frozen in place. Her glowing eyes went wide, filled with a deep sadness and a growing rage as they fell upon a single feathered arrow protruding from her back.

For a single moment, all the world was suspended in silence. Maiev could do little more than stare at that arrow, somehow so familiar, and the pool of blood spreading around the girl's body. And then, after what felt like an eternity, she lifted her gaze, which burned now with a fiery vengeance. And there, at the end of the corridor, with her head held high and fierce look of defiance on her face, was Tyrande Whisperwind.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Okay. I need to give a thousand apologies for my unexpected hiatus. Real life sort of exploded on me for a few weeks there, and I had to take a step back to get everything in order again. I'm back now, though, and with a fiery vengeance. I do hope you can forgive me!**

 **However, if you cant, I am offering a bit of an incentive. Here's how it works: send a pm or leave a review with a Warcraft pairing of your choice, any pairing you want. I will number them in the order they are received, and then draw one randomly (using a generator). I will announce the winner with next Monday's update, and within the week post a special little one shot. I hope that's enough to make up for my absence.**

 **Anyway, you've waited long enough. I wont keep you waiting any longer. Welcome back, lovelies! –Skye xx**

 _ **six**_

The seconds dragged by, measured only by the rapid pounding of Maiev's pulse as she stared down the corridor at the high priestess. The seconds dragged on, and nothing existed except the two of them, locked in a deadly stare, neither of them daring to move. Maiev felt as though her heart might swell and burst right from her chest, but she was doing all that she could to contain it, digging her nails into her palms and trying to focus on that manifestation of physical pain instead of the way her very soul seemed to weep for the death of her companion.

Tyrande's white gown was splattered with blood, the blood of her fallen Watchers, but the priestess showed no remorse. Her expression was filled only with fury and determination, and her fingers gripped tightly at the curved bow she held. "Warden Shadowsong," she called out, her voice dangerously low. There was not an ounce of respect in how she spoke the title, but rather a heavy contempt, as if Maiev was merely another thing in her way. Thinking on it, she supposed she was. "Stand down, Maiev."

The words had no sooner left her lips than Maiev was shaking her head. She was trying desperately to regain some of her composure and strength, but the smell of blood was thick around her, and without her armor to conceal herself, she was feeling pitifully weak and exposed. "No," she said, once she managed to find her voice. She hated how hoarse she sounded, how pathetic she sounded to her own ears, and so she forced herself to suck in a greedy breath, to straighten up and narrow her eyes at the other woman.

"No," she repeated, this time more forcefully. "You have no power here, Tyrande."

"I have power anywhere my goddess sees fit to grant me it," Tyrande snapped coolly. It took everything Maiev had in her to hold her ground and stop herself from flinching at the harshness in her tone. It had been a long time since last she had seen the priestess, and although she herself may not have been particularly fond of her, she held no memories of any sort of malevolent nature in her. She was headstrong, yes, and perhaps overly confident, but only because she had been gifted a great blessing. But ruthless, merciless, cold...even Maiev would not have described her in such a way.

Now, though, it was hard to see her as that source of light and truth and guidance. It was hard to see her as anything except a murderous traitor that was wearing the blood of Maiev's soldiers and brandishing her faith like some impenetrable shield.

"I don't want to hurt you," Tyrande warned, but even as she spoke, Maiev caught the way her arm raised, ready to free another arrow from her quiver. "But if you try to stand in my way, I will not hesitate to stop you."

Maiev felt a ripple of fury move through her at that. "Stand in your _way_?" She echoed, her disbelief and confusion clear in the words. "Tyrande, what are you-"

She cut herself off abruptly, her own body betraying her as she threw a sudden glance over her shoulder. _Illidan_. Her rage mixed with a rising panic as the pieces fell into place around her and she realized all at once just what reason had brought the other woman here into the Barrows. She had no sooner whirled back towards the priestess than Tyrande had ripped free an arrow, pressing it into the string and raising it to aim, all in one continuous motion.

"Get out of my way, Shadowsong," Tyrande hissed, her entire body rigid with the all the tension she had put into drawing back the bowstring. Maiev felt her panic growing, swelling, consuming her in a rush of fiery adrenaline as she stumbled back and scrambled to come up with some kind of plan. Her eyes fell upon the corpse at her feet, and without taking even a second to consider, she snatched up their discarded weapon and raised it up before her, just in time to deflect the arrow that Tyrande had released.

After that, Maiev lost all of her restraint, all of her self control, and she threw herself violently towards the priestess. She was blinded by her rage and her pain, and she was going to make Tyrande pay for all that she had done.

But before her weapon could make any contact with the priestess, Tyrande had dodged out of the way, rolling gracefully and rising to her feet once more. Maiev whipped around, lunged again, but without the familiarity of her own weapon or the safety of her armor, she was lacking, and Tyrande seemed to know this enough to be able to take full advantage of this.

"You will not take him," Maiev snarled, and although the words were meant literally, there was an unspoken meaning behind them, and some small part of her wondered if Tyrande knew that too. The dark haired elf leapt out of the way of another wide, arcing swing; this time she caught Maiev by the upper arm, and without a single word, she shoved her away as forcefully as she could.

A grunt passed through her lips as her body collided with the stone corridor, a sharp ache shooting up her spine from the impact. Her head crashed into the wall, causing her vision to blur. Her knees gave out under her swaying weight, and she collapsed against the hard ground.

Her consciousness was slipping, fading in and out. Maiev struggled to push herself up, but it was pointless. Her entire body was ablaze with agonizing pain, and as she gave into the welcoming sanctuary of the darkness, the last thing she saw was Tyrande leaning in close to tear the key from where it hung around her neck, breaking the chain as she did.

…

Illidan had been listening as best he could, trying to make sense of what was going on around him, but the most he could grasp was the muffled sounds of some distant struggle. Maiev had fled in a hurry, taking her blood red glow with her and plunging Illidan into the black once again. The light of the Watcher that had interrupted their moment had long since flickered and faded out into nothing.

Now, he was alone again and left with far more conflict than he had had before Maiev had dared to come traipsing in here and digging up the past. He had managed to bury it long ago, all that had happened between them, and had been perfectly content to leave it there. But apparently the same could not be said of Maiev; apparently, she was lacking some sort of closure.

Her question still lingered in his mind, what might have become of them if things had been different, but even after all this time he wasn't exactly sure what he would have given as an answer. Of course he had toyed with the idea from time to time; he had nothing to do in this eternal hell than to relive every moment of his life over again, and so it was only natural that he would have considered what might have happened with himself and Maiev, if only things had played out differently between them. But even then, they had been so completely wrong for each other, two burning fires that were so dangerous the most they would ever be able to do was consume each other in their flames.

All at once, it stopped. Illidan had almost forgotten all about the low sounds of the scuffle beyond his prison chamber until they were gone, and then he felt painfully aware of the silence that returned to the halls of the Barrow, fractured only by the sounds of his own heart threatening to beat its way right out of his chest. No matter how he strained his ears, it was all that he could hear, just his pulse and the last remnants of whatever great battle had just been waged ringing off the stone walls.

A moment later, there came the sound of footsteps, but they were soft and hurried instead of the usual heavy, measured sound of Maiev. No, this was not his jailer approaching. This was someone else, and for some reason Illidan couldn't seem to stop his hands from shaking, and there was this aching he couldn't quite place, a feeling so long forgotten that he didn't think he could have identified it if he tried.

Until the shadows parted.

For as long as he could recall, Illidan had known only darkness. It had pressed in upon him from all directions, until he had absorbed it right into himself. But now, for the first time in more years than he cared to consider, the shadows gave way to light. It came slowly, blindingly bright, pushing away the last of the dark so that it was all he could see. He staggered back away from the bars of his cage, narrowed his eyes as the light flooded his vision.

And then came a voice, so painfully soft that he could barely even hear it, and it was somehow both the most familiar and foreign sound he had ever heard in all his life, just a quiet whisper of, "hello, Illidan."

In the instant that followed, he felt more emotions than he could even comprehend, one bleeding into the other until it was impossible to pick them apart. And yet, at the same time, he felt nothing at all. The seconds were measured by the rapid beat of his heart, until at last he was able to draw in a ragged, shaking breath, lifted his chin and stared directly into the white light of the figure before him.

"Tyrande."

Saying her name aloud brought on a surge of feelings that coursed through his veins like fire, all passion and despair and anger and want. For thousands of years, he had lived with those feelings, had lived with the curse of his love for the woman who stood before him now. For thousands upon thousands of years, it had driven him mad, that love and the knowledge that he would never see her again. He had clung to the memories of her for fear that if he ever tried to push them aside, he would lose her altogether, and lose whatever remained of himself right along with her.

Now, Illidan choked them back one by one and forced himself to take a few hesitant steps towards the edge of the cell. He raised his hands to grip the bars tightly, so tightly that his knuckles turned white from the pressure. They were the only things left between them, it seemed, and if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he was having a difficult time believing that this was real. Surely this was all some sick nightmare; he had dreamed of her so many times before, and it certainly stood to reason that he was merely trapped in his own tormenting dream once more.

Tyrande, too, was hesitant, keeping her distance as she gazed upon him. In the dark of the prison, it was hard to see much of anything, but the dim light was enough for her to make out his familiar form, and the demonic glow of his eyes and the tattoos that spiraled across his chest shone vividly against the obscurity that surrounded him. Almost without realizing it, she had lifted her own trembling hand, extending it through the bars and placing it lightly against his cheek.

"Illidan," she breathed once more, his name edged this time with a sense of relief. "You're alive."

No thanks to you, he started to snap, but quickly bit back the retort. Still, he flinched away from her touch, turning his head roughly to the side. Tyrande yanked her hand back as though he had burned her, clutching it against her chest as she watched him. But he sensed no fear in her aura, only traces of regret and desolation.

"What are you doing here?" He finally said, because it was all that he could think to say without breaking down entirely.

Tyrande took a slow, steadying breath, but said nothing for a long moment. When she did speak, she did so in a low murmur that might have broken his heart if not for the fact that he didn't think he could possibly have been broken any more than it already was. "We need you, Illidan," she told him, daring to rest her hand atop his own. "I fear the Burning Legion has returned-"

"I needed _you_!" He roared, cutting her off and pulling away from her again. The priestess recoiled once more, her mouth hanging open as she gaped at him, and this time he did sense her fear. It destroyed him to know that the person he had never wished to hurt in all his life was afraid of him, but he was too caught up in his own rage to think on it for long. Too caught up in his own rage to even _realize_ what she had said, for surely if he had registered her words he would have set aside his own grudges and grievances.

"Illidan-" She started again, but he was far from done.

"I needed you, and you weren't there, Tyrande!" His features quickly rearranged into a scowl, all of the emotions he had harbored towards her seeming to spill out at once. "You _abandoned_ me. You left me here to die. You locked me up and went on with your life like it was nothing. You forgot about me-"

"I never forgot, Illidan," she snapped back, her own frustration apparent. "Do not dare think for a second that I forgot." No, she had carried the burden of her guilt around for centuries. She had felt the bitter remorse of what had been done to him. She had replayed all of their memories, wondered what she would have done differently if it would have ensured that Illidan would not be forced to spend an eternity locked away.

She was retreating, her light was dimming, and while Illidan wanted little more than to cling to it and keep it all for himself so that he would never have to return to the dark. He felt his enmity diminishing, leaving only a great apathy in its place. "What do you want from me, Tyrande?"

Whatever answer he may have been hoping for, it was not the one he got. "I want you to help us fight," she answered evenly. The franticness in her voice was gone again, replaced with a sort of frigid distance that seemed entirely unfitting for the girl that existed in his memories. But then, that girl was in no way the same as the one standing before him. She was gone, lost to the effects of passing time. Tyrande had experienced years of hurt and loneliness and the quiet determination it had taken for her to lead their people, and those things had changed her. But then, Illidan had felt that hurt and loneliness too, and he didn't feel all that different. "Illidan, our people need you."

The elf gave a long pause, closing his eyes in attempt to block out the brightness of her light. It did little good; even still he could sense it there. So he gave a heaving sigh, opened his eyes slowly and bowing his head. "Because I care... _once_ cared for you," he said lowly, "I will help you."

Tyrande opened her mouth to speak again, but she didn't get a chance before Illidan shot her a severe look. It was the strangest sensation, staring into his eyes, or what would have been his eyes if not for the accursed orbs that had replaced them. "But," he added, his voice so intense it sent a shiver up her spine. "I will never owe our people anything."

The priestess bowed her head in understanding. When she raised her chin once more, there was a newfound glow ablaze in her eyes. "Alright," she said, giving him a sharp nod. "Let's get you out of here."

Tyrande moved away from the bars, opening her palm and staring down at the key. In spite of herself, she glanced over her shoulder, as if expecting one last attempt from Maiev to stop her. But the Warden was still unconscious in the corridor, and so Tyrande allowed herself to give a small sigh of relief as she slid the key in and opened the cell.

The creak of the hinges echoed in the expansive room, but Illidan made no sign of moving. For a few moments, he only stood there, unseeing eyes staring vaguely in her direction. Finally, he was handed his freedom, and he felt suddenly, utterly unsure of what he was meant to do with it. Somewhere along the way, he had gotten used to the darkness, had spent so long in this cell that he wasn't sure how to exist anywhere else.

But then he felt Tyrande's hand reaching out to take his own, their fingers lacing together, and she pulled him forward. Guided him along, her blaring white light leading the way, illuminating the world around him, chasing away the darkness he had lived in all this time. And he followed her, as he always had. Because even after all this time, she was his light. She was his weakness. She was the one person in all the world that could make him forget anything and everything, except her and her alone.

Even after all this time, he had loved her.

It was a different love now than it had been in the days of their youth, when he had clung to her with such desperation and longing, when he had coveted and desired her so much he lost himself. It was tainted with all of the bitterness and anger he had held in his heart for her, because she had abandoned him when he needed her most. It was tarnished with years of anguish, of heartbreak and loneliness, none of which she had ever once tried to take away from him. But it was a love nonetheless, and he had carried it with him all this time, and he wasn't even sure he had realized it until she was there before him, blinding him all over again with her luminescent glow.

It was for that reason alone that he allowed her to lead him out, away from his prison and through the corridors, clutching tightly to her hand, thinking that maybe, _maybe_ , this time he wouldn't ever have to let go.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Are we having fun yet? :D I know I am. Many thanks to everyone who is following along with me on this crazy adventure. I appreciate from the bottom of my broken heart each and every individual review or favorite I have received. It means the world to me. I am really pleased with the way this story is turning out, and I like to think that my devoted readers are as well.**

 **In regards to the pairing give away, I appreciate everyone who left comments on the last chapter. The generator result is in, and it looks like the story will be featuring DK!Arthas and Jaina! I am very excited for this. It will be posted sometime next week as a separate piece (reason to follow me, if you aren't already :P).**

 **Okay, okay, I wont keep you anymore. Mwah! -Skye xx**

…

 _ **seven**_

Jaina stared absently out the window of her small chamber from where she sat at her makeshift wooden desk. A teacup was placed before her, steam rising off the surface in small tendrils as she swirled her finger idly a few inches above it; the liquid spun and sloshed around inside the porcelain.

It was strange, the passing of time in this place. She felt like she had been here for ages, and yet it seemed like it was only yesterday she was sailing away, the burning remnants of Lordaeron swallowed up by the horizon. She couldn't seem to shake this feeling that there was something more she was supposed to be doing, even though she couldn't think of anything more she could possibly do. Their base has been established, their people secure, their tenuous alliance with the orcs sealed. No, there was nothing to do now but wait, and hope that when the armies of demons came, they would be ready.

"Lady Proudmoore." The deep voice of her guard interrupted her from her own thoughts, caused her to jump in her seat as she whirled around to face the door. He winced a little, bowing his head. "I'm so sorry to bother you, ma'am. I just- there is-" He paused, holding up a thick piece of folded parchment. "This just came for you. A letter from the orc warchief."

Jaina felt a pang in her chest that she knew most certainly should not have been there. She rose to her feet and crossed the room in a few easy strides, snatching the letter up far quicker than she necessary. Seeing the way the guard raised his brows, she felt a crimson stain spread over her cheeks. "Thank you," she said hurriedly. "I am sure this is of the utmost importance."

The guard lingered a moment longer than she really thought necessary, but eventually he left her there, and only when she was no longer able to hear his footsteps echoing away down the hall did she dare to open the letter. Before she could make out a single word, something tumbled free and fell to the ground at her feet. Jaina bent down to retrieve it, her fingers wrapping around the stem of a single golden flower.

Straightening back up, she returned her attention to the letter. Her blue eyes moved quickly across the paper, reading it once, twice, and then a third time just to make sure she hadn't missed a single word. Committing them to memory. _Lady Proudmoore,_ it read, _I hope you made it back to your base without interference. I enjoyed our little talk- it is nice to know that I am not alone in all of this, and that there is someone else who understands. Perhaps we might get a chance to do so again._

His name was scrawled across the bottom in messy script. Below that was an additional note. _I trust that you will find what you are looking for someday soon. But do not allow yourself to forget completely where you came from. In the meantime, try to appreciate what you have now. In case you need a place to start…_

Her gaze flitted back to the flower she held, the golden petals soft against her skin as she flattened her palm and brought it closer to admire it. Up close, she could see the little speckles of pink and pale blue that melded into the yellow. It was the most beautiful thing she had seen in a long, long time. A smile tugged at her lips as she folded the letter back up and placed it in the back of her open tome, safe and out of sight.

Turning away from the desk, she called out for her guard once more as she made her way across the chamber, retrieving her cloak from where it had been half-heartedly shed beside the bed. The guard entered just in time to see her fasten the thick purple cloth around her slender frame and pull the massive hood up over her golden hair.

"Yes, Lady Proudmoore?" He asked, his tone as level as ever.

She stole a glance at him from the corner of her eye, fingering the petals she held still in her clasped palm. "Ready my horse, please," she ordered. "I must go and pay Warchief Thrall a visit." Just so she could thank him in person, for thinking so fondly of her. And, she thought, maybe so that she wouldn't have to feel so alone.

…

"Warden. Wake up"

Maiev was vaguely aware of the soft voice calling out to her, the calloused hands that shook her gently in attempt to rouse her. The most she could manage in reply was a muffled groan as she squeezed her eyes shut tighter and tried to block out the flickering torchlight.

"Maiev," the voice urged again, and this time she was able to open her eyes just enough to make out the form of the elf hovering over her. Naisha's brows were drawn together in concern, her warm fingers moving over the Warden's bare arms, brushing away the dirt and the dust. "Took quite a fall, did you? What in Elune's name happened?"

Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she opened her mouth to reply, but not before a sharp jolt of pain shot through her entire body, in every muscle, every joint, and the throbbing spot where she had smashed her head against the wall. She pressed a hand to her temple and squeezed her eyes shut, but the moment she did, she was plagued with visions, the flicker of memories replaying over and over against the backdrop of her mind. Blood...so much blood, and pain… She'd had her heart broken before, but this was a different kind of heartbreak, from being forced to stand by helplessly as one of her Watchers crumbled and died before her very eyes.

"How many are left?" She hissed out.

It took a moment for Naisha to understand her words, and when she did, she felt a pang in her own chest. The Watchers had been small in numbers to begin with, but this had nearly wiped them out. "Not many, I'm afraid. Maybe fifteen or so. Several of them are badly wounded."

"Tyrande was here," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse, making her wonder just how long she had been out. The images in her mind were fleeting, speeding by almost too fast for her make sense of them. Her frown only deepened as she tried to grab ahold of them before they could escape her. "She… she wanted-"

All at once, Maiev's eyes flashed open, burning brightly with her sudden fury. Ignoring the way her body cried out in protest, she gripped at the stone wall and forced herself to her feet. Naisha scrambled to do the same, her hands hovering near her commander in case she should need some aid, but Maiev hardly noticed. She had lost sight of all her surroundings, had forgotten everything except the violent thudding in her heart as she pushed herself into a sprint.

The doors to the prison chamber hung wide open. Maiev skidded to a stop, taking care so as not to disturb the broken body of the fallen Watcher. Through the darkness she saw the cell, saw the caged door swung outward, saw the chains discarded. "No." The single word, hollow and empty, echoed in the chamber, bounced off the walls, resounded in her very core. She said it again and again, each time with more ferocity and anguish, until she felt tears stinging her eyes from the very force of it. She stumbled forward, closer to the cage, her shaking hands reaching out to grip the bars just to stop herself from collapsing to the group all over again.

Gone. Illidan was gone. Thousands of years she had guarded over him without even the faintest threat to his captivity, and in a single night it had all been undone. Illidan had left her again, and with him he had taken her heart, her purpose, her everything. He had left an empty shell behind, draining her of any feeling or vitality. Illidan was gone, and without him, Maiev was nothing.

In spite of her best efforts, she couldn't keep herself from allowing a few stray tears to trickle down her cheeks, leaving behind them little rivulets that smudged at the dirt that caked her skin.

From where she stood in the archway, Naisha watched silently as her esteemed and hardened warden fell apart. She saw the way her shoulders shook with each sob she tried to contain, and she understood. Maiev had always been impenetrable and cold, but she was far from heartless. She may have done her best to shut out the rest of the world, but those few precious times she had allowed Naisha to see the fragile and breakable girl that hid underneath, she had known. After all, there was such a fine line between love and hate, and although Maiev had always done her best to balance upon that line where Illidan Stormrage was concerned, it was obvious which way she would have fallen.

Only when Maiev had sucked in a deep breath, wiped at her tears with the back of her hand and turned to face her lieutenant, did Naisha dare to speak again. "What are you orders, Warden Shadowsong?"

It took far more energy than she had to spare, but somehow Maiev managed to straighten up, to lift her chin and cling onto whatever pride and dignity she had left. She was going to need it now more than ever, she knew, if she was ever to right the terrible wrongs that had been done this day. "Gather the bodies," she said, surprising herself with the strength in her voice.

Naisha gave a sharp nod, turning on her heel. But she didn't even make it a step into the corridor before Maiev had called out for her once again. "Yes, Warden?"

Maiev glanced back over her shoulder, only once, towards the empty cage. Her final question to Illidan still reverberated in her mind. _Do you think that maybe you and I could have-_

She shook those thoughts away instantly, pushed them far away somewhere they could never hurt her again. She was still the same foolish little girl. Well, she supposed she had gotten her answer anyway, hadn't she? Illidan was gone. If there had been any part of him that had felt for her, that had wanted the same things as her, then he would not have left her so alone.

"Warden?" Naisha prompted softly, drawing Maiev out of her thoughts once more.

Maiev blinked slowly, and when she opened her eyes again, they were aglow with all the determination in the world. "Bring me my armor."

...

The dirt slipped through her fingers and fell to the ground and fell upon the burial mound where the fallen now rested. Far too many times this day, Maiev had felt her eyes overflowing with tears, but she would not allow herself to cry, not anymore. After all, no amount of tears could bring back the dead, nor could they return Illidan to her, and so instead she sucked in a breath, shaky and uneven, and she have a final nod.

"Their sacrifice will not be forgotten," she murmured softly. Lifting her chin, she took her time to meet the gaze of each and every Watcher that remained. They were a pitifully small group now, afraid and weary and uncertain of anything, and the responsibility fell to Maiev to guide their way, to give them back the faith and hope and courage that had been stolen from them.

"Nor will it be in vain," she pressed on. A steady breeze had picked up, and it tugged at the loose, snarled strands of her long hair, but did not pierce through the steel she'll of her armor. For so long it had been like a sanctuary to her, but in that moment it felt almost more like a cage.

Still, in spite of her trembling voice and her breaking heart, she somehow managed to find it in herself to continue. "A great tragedy has befallen us this day," she said. Her voice grew stronger as her anger rose once more and the images of the Watcher lying lifeless on the cold ground flashed before her eyes. "The High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind has brought disgrace upon herself and upon the very goddess she claims to serve. She has paid for her crimes with the blood of _our_ companions."

A ripple of agreement moved through the group of elves. Maiev remained silent for a moment, watching as the fire that fueled her, that guided every word she said, sparked in the eyes of the others. After a moment, she spoke again. "And now, because of her actions, the Betrayer has gone free. His release endangers the lives of all the Kaldorei, and he must be apprehended. We must not allow ourselves to forget the task that was given to us."

"What would you have us do?" Asked one of the Watchers instantly, her dark stare boring into Maiev, her voice low.

The Warden bit down at the insides of her cheeks as she forced herself to take a few deep, steadying breaths. Then she turned around and bent down to retrieve the umbra crescent from where she had left it on the ground and lifted it up, clutching to it as if it were all she had left in the world. And in a way, she supposed, it was.

"I swore to guard Illidan until the day he died," she replied. Her tone was final, her words echoing in the clearing. "We're going to do the only thing we _can_ do. We're going to get him back."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Happy belated birthday to me! :D This is my present to all of my beautiful followers. –Skye xx**

 _ **eight**_

If he was being completely honest with himself, Illidan was somewhat overwhelmed by this newfound freedom. He had given up long ago the idea that he would ever be free, and so having it thrust upon him so suddenly was something he had not been entirely prepared to deal with. Though he was unable to see his surroundings, unable to make out anything except that blaring white light that spilled forth from Tyrande's form, he could still sense that the world had changed tenfold since last he has been allowed to wander it. It was foreign and unfamiliar to him, his memories tainted by years of darkness.

The journey from the Barrows has been silent, save for the rustling wind. It had been a long time since Illidan had been able to feel the cool caress of the wind as it moved against him, or to hear the way it moved through the towering trees of the forest, so long that he found he had forgotten just how much he enjoyed it. It danced around him now, a light breeze that blew through his hair and brushed against his skin to remind him of all that he had lost.

He wanted more than anything to speak, to say something at all just to try and ease the tension that had settled in around them, but each time he opened his mouth, he found himself unable to find any words. So he focused instead on following Tyrande's guiding white light as she led him along. Even still, he found that he had to strain his ears to make out her shallow breaths or delicate footfalls as she maneuvered around the branches, just to ensure he didn't end up walking into anything. She was on foot now, for Ash'alah had refused to go into the prisons, instead abandoning her to make the long trek on her own.

It was Tyrande that spoke first, though her voice was far too hollow for him to find any real comfort in. "We'll stop here and rest," she said, coming to a halt. "The trek back to Nordrassil is too far for us to make in a single night."

After that, she slipped back into her silence, and as Illidan sat with his back against the rough bark of a tree and stared off absently, her flickering glow across the clearing the only sign she was still there at all. The silence stretched on endlessly, time passing at a painfully slow rate, until at last Illidan thought he might choke on the tension that pressed in upon him. Illidan rubbed idly at his wrists, felt the scratches and scars that remained there from years of being chained, tried to think of something, _anything_ , he could say to her. But how could he possibly vocalize ten thousand years worth of pain, of sorrow and regret and love? Tyrande had moved on with her life. She had left him behind long ago and never once looked back. How could he make her understand that for him, moving on was an impossible feat?

"I think I'll go and scout the surrounding areas," Tyrande said suddenly, her icy voice making him flinch. He had almost gotten used to the silence, and so her breaking it had caught him completely off guard. The shifting of her aura and the sound of rustling leaves told him that she was rising to her feet, and so he did the same. Every fiber of his being longed to go to her, to be near her, to hold her.

But she was moving away from him, her light dimming as she did. She was rambling now; it seemed that once she had shattered the quietness in which they had existed, she was unable to stop. "...just make sure there are no demons around," she was saying, though Illidan barely registered anything except the way she kept growing farther away.

"Tyrande," he blurted, her name falling from his lips in a rushed and desperate sound and cutting her off completely. She came to an abrupt halt and turned slowly, until they were standing face to face. Neither of them gave any sign of trying to close the distance between them, but Illidan felt painfully aware of it and wanted nothing more than to move closer and sweep her up. After so much time spent believing he would never be allowed to bask in her presence again, she was finally here in front of him, and he found himself torn between taking her into his arms and doing all he could to hold on forever, or turning and running before she had the chance to crush him all over again.

"Tyrande," he said again, this time softer, giving away all of his trepidation. He wanted to tell her that it didn't matter, that none of the time or distance or hatred he'd held onto for so long mattered anymore. He wanted to tell her that now, in this moment, with her standing here before him, nothing else mattered except that even still she had all the power in the world over him. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her, if ever she were to ask him, because after all this time, his love for her had been the one thing that had never been taken away. He wanted to tell her that he had dreamed of this moment for so long, had imagined this scene in his mind more times that he could even keep track of. That he had planned every word he would say to her, every confession and revelation of his unwavering feelings.

But now that it was real, now that his dream had come true, it seemed he had forgotten all that he had planned to say, and anyway, he didn't think there were enough words in all the languages of the world that could spell it out for her.

So he opted instead to say nothing, and he took a few staggering steps towards her, until he was able to fumble for her form in the stark contrast of her light against his dark. He pulled her in against his chest, an arm slung around her waist to keep her in place, and he kissed her.

Like most everything in his life that pertained to Tyrande, the kiss was perfect, passionate, and over far too soon. She yanked away from his embrace so quickly that she nearly stumbled and lost her footing. She regained it quickly, put some space between them and wrapped her arms around herself, staring up at him with parted lips and widened eyes.

Illidan was a mess of emotions, hurt and longing, pain and desire, all the things he had come to associate with Tyrande throughout his life. He watched her light, the way it seemed to wane and wax like the moon itself, wanted nothing more than to keep it all for himself. When she opened her mouth to speak, he was quick to cut her off.

"I know what you're going to say, Tyra," he told her, daring to use his old nickname for her, a name that felt strange and almost forbidden on his lips. "And I don't want to hear it. I know that you feel nothing for me. I know that you're happy. I know that you've moved on. I know that I wouldn't even be here right now if it wasn't out of necessity."

"Illidan-" She tried to interrupt, shaking her head a little, but he silenced once more with a roaring snarl.

"No, Tyrande, I'm not finished," he snapped. He had been denied a chance to speak to her for far too long, and now that he was finally able to, he felt the words spilling out freely, rushed and frantic in his desperate need just to make her understand. "I already know how you feel, so you can spare yourself from throwing it back in my face. Your absence has made it abundantly clear where I stand with you. But if you think for even a second that it has ever changed my feelings, you're wrong."

Illidan watched her intently for a long moment, felt the steady rise and fall of his chest with each shallow breath, clenched his hands into fists at his side. He was waiting for a reply, for a sign that she had even heard him, but all she did was stare right back at him with some undecipherable expression on her face. He was starting to think that maybe all of his breath had been wasted, that it was all pointless, that no matter how he spelled it out for him Tyrande would never care enough to listen. He turned away from her, tried to gather up the last of his broken heart and what little remained of his pride.

But this time, it was Tyrande that stopped him. As soon as he felt her slender fingers lace with his own, he froze, sucked in a greedy breath and faced her once more. She flashed him a small smile, just barely there at all, and although he couldn't see it he could see the way her aura brightened. There was nothing she could say, really, and nothing he could say either, and they both knew it. Words were meaningless now. They wouldn't change anything, couldn't fix the impossibleness of the situation, and Tyrande feared that if she opened her mouth to speak then she would lose whatever bravery she had found.

This time, when Illidan pulled her in, she didn't try to move away. She allowed him to place a shaking hand on her hip, allowed him to catch her chin and tilt her head back, and allowed him to press a gentle kiss to her lips. She didn't protest; in fact, she rested her hands against his chest and parted her lips under his own.

This was wrong, she knew. She wasn't supposed to want this. She wasn't supposed to enjoy the way his hands moved over her body, or the way his mouth worked so eagerly against her own. She wasn't supposed to hear her own pounding heart, or feel herself growing dizzy with the breathlessness of the kiss.

Tyrande knew all of these things, really. She was just struggling to remember exactly _why_ she wasn't supposed to want it. Perhaps it was just because she seemed to have lost her ability to think clearly. She couldn't seem to focus on anything except the way his tongue was now sliding along her bottom lip, not so much requesting entrance to her mouth as forcing his way in.

For a moment, she lost her grip on reality entirely, and she was thrown back in time, recalling vividly the last time he had kissed her. It had been a night not so very different from this one, with the moon bright in the sky, the threat of the Legion breathing down their necks, and her heart heavy with the weight of the betrayal she was committing against Malfurion. The last time Illidan had kissed her, with much the same franticness as he seemed to possess now, not softened in the slightest by the length of time that had passed them by, she had pulled back and brought it to an end, because she couldn't stand the thought of hurting Malfurion.

But she had carried around this silent burden for a long time after, this lingering _what if_ that she had only allowed herself to entertain on the rarest of occasions, when her loneliness had gotten the best of her. What if she had not pulled back? What if she had allowed him to kiss her, allowed him to trail his hands over her hips and the small of her back, as he was doing now? What if she had allowed him to lay her down upon the grass and shower her with kisses, to profess without a single word just how deeply his love for her ran? Perhaps then he would not have left, and none of this would have happened.

Well, she wasn't pulling away now. Couldn't, really, more than wouldn't, partially due to the way Illidan was holding onto her so tightly and partially due to the fact that she had been granted one single opportunity to get the answers she had wanted for so many years.

With that thought, she gave in fully to each touch, each kiss. She relinquished all control. She let go of herself so fully she feared for a moment she might never be able to recover. Illidan's hands upon her grew rougher with each touch, his kisses turning to bites and his fingers leaving angry red marks upon her skin. She did her part to return the gestures, her own hands moving from his chest to his back, nails digging into his flesh as she pressed herself as closely to him as she possibly could.

His hands bunched into the fabric of her ruined gown, tugging at the thin material. His movements were determined and rushed, clinging to this one flawless moment as though at any given second she might yank away from him and realize just what was happening. But Tyrande wasn't trying to go anywhere, and Illidan wasn't planning on letting her anyway, because he had been waiting for this for so damn long he had given up on trying to keep track, and finally it was happening, it was real, and the pounding of her heart moving from her body to his was the proof.

His impatience got the best of him at last, and a moment later he had yanked her dress above her head and tossed it off to the side somewhere. Tyrande immediately felt a warm blush rising to her cheeks and staining them crimson red, clashing against her navy hair and tinging even the tips of her long ears. Illidan couldn't see her, not really, but his fingertips were trailing over the skin of her hips, tracing every one of her ribs, the curve of her breast, the length of her collarbone, and back down her chest to her stomach. Everywhere he touched, he left a little trail of fire to burn her skin, but in spite of the warmth she still felt a shiver move up her spine.

His hand continued to stray down, teasing and exploring, until Tyrande felt a strangled gasp push itself free from her lungs. She clutched to him tightly, but with her legs shaking and threatening to give out under her own weight, it was still not enough to keep her on her feet. Illidan quickly slipped an arm around her, steadying her, and then easing them both onto the dampened grass. As Illidan worked to unlace his pants, Tyrande stared up at the night sky stretched out above them, an endless black pinned in place with golden stars.

She focused on numbering them one by one so as to prevent her mind from wandering too far away from what was happening, what was about to happen. The nagging voice in the back of her head was trying to scream out that this was wrong, that she was betraying Malfurion in the worst possible way, that she should stop this before it was allowed to go on any further-

But then Illidan's weight was upon her once more as he straddled her hips. She found no hesitation in his expression, no restraint whatsoever. He leaned in close to her to steal one more kiss from her lips, softer and slower than the others had been. Then his hands found her thighs, pressing his nails into her tender flesh as he pushed her legs apart. He moved himself against her with a single motion of his hips, faint pressure that alone was enough to send her reeling, her fingers digging into the earth below them.

"I-Illidan," she gasped out, and apparently the breathlessness with which she spoke his name was all that he needed as permission, for a moment later he had thrust into her.

If she had expected gentleness from him, she was easily proven wrong. Illidan's movements were hurried, needy and rough. His grip upon her legs grew tight enough to leave bruises behind where his fingers had been, and each time he pushed himself into her, she thought she might scream from the impact. She settled instead for low moans, pain mixed with pleasure as she quivered and writhed under him.

When at last it was done, Illidan collapsed onto her chest, shuddering with the last of his orgasm, clutching her body against his own. Tyrande felt the entirety of his weight upon her, crushing her, forcing all of the air from her lungs. She took a few gasping breaths, but it was not quite enough to fill her lungs.

"Tyra," Illidan whispered a few minutes later, his voice raspy and hoarse as it broke through the silence. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit down on the insides of her cheeks, thought that maybe she might be able to pass for sleeping so that she wouldn't have to face the reality of what she had done until tomorrow came.

It must have worked, for Illidan soon repositioned himself at her side, slung an arm over her possessively, and brushed his lips against her cheek. "I love you, Tyrande," he murmured softly.

She didn't reply, didn't move, barely even breathed. She waited until she was certain he had fallen asleep; only then did she allow herself to cry.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Well, it's been a long time in the making (like over ten thousand years, seriously), but Illidan finally got what he wanted. And so did like half the readers. I honestly just want to start giving out 'Team Maiev' and 'Team Tyra' shirts. Watch out, Jaina. You're the only one left… Hahahah. Okay, sorry, I'm sleep deprived as hell.**

 **Really quickly, I would just like to address a small issue. I'm very glad to see so many reviews coming in- really, it makes me smile every time, but a few of them seem to be targeting the other readers instead of the characters. Please remember to be respectful, even if someone doesn't share your views on things. That being said, keep up this level of enthusiasm, guys!**

 **Carry on! -Skye xx**

…

 _ **nine**_

"Illidan, wake up."

A muffled groan passing through his lips, Illidan raised an arm to shield his face and try to block out the feminine voice that called out to him. He didn't know what time it was, only that he was far too exhausted to care. He felt as if he hadn't slept, really, truly slept, in days, and he wasn't so eager to give it up. "Go away," he grumbled out, squeezing his eyes shut tightly.

From where she knelt at his side, Tyrande frowned, jerking her hand away from him. She had been in enough of a panic since she had awoken, and the reality of what she had done had fully set in. Even now, she could feel the lingering sting of each light touch and rough kiss he had placed upon her. The burning reminder of her betrayal, her crime for which there was no atonement. No way to undo what had been done.

Of course, Tyrande wasn't fully certain she would take it back even if she could. Sure, she felt guilty, knowing fully well that she had violated the sanctity of her bond with Malfurion. Now, even just thinking his name was enough to make her heart lurch. If ever he were to find out what had transpired between Illidan and herself...well, she shuddered to think of how he might react.

But at the same time, a part of her felt this strange sense of relief that it had finally happened. This collision had been a long time coming; no matter how she had tried to repress it over the years, there had always been this feeling that she lacked closure where Illidan was concerned. Tyrande had long ago abandoned any notion of ever seeing Illidan again, and even before then, she had certainly never envisioned their unlikely reunion to end the way it had. That wasn't to say the thought had never crossed her mind, just that whenever it had, she had been quick to brush it off as improbable and reckless.

Well, regardless of all the rest, the night had drawn to a close, and she had been forced to own up to her decisions. And no matter how much she debated with herself, how much she mulled it over back and forth, she still couldn't decide if this had given her that closure or simply created more inner conflict for her to battle.

Illidan's icy reply only served to further her distress. Pushing a hand through her snarled tresses of dark azure hair, Tyrande worked up the courage to reach out and give him another careful shake. "Illidan," she urged again. "Come on, we need to go."

His response was another irritated sigh, his hand moving to literally swat her away before he rolled over fully and turned his back on her. "Leave me alone," he growled, this time far more forcefully. "I'm not in the mood for your mind games, Maiev."

Tyrande flinched, recoiled as though he had actually smacked her, such was the shock of his words. She supposed that, really, logically, it shouldn't have come as so much of a surprise. Illidan had spent nearly his entire life, had woken to her presence every day, and so she should have come to expect that in his newfound freedom he might have forgotten her absence. But, just as she had remembered so many other things from the fateful days of her youth, Tyrande had never quite forgotten how Maiev had pined for him or how, at one time, Illidan had returned those affections. It had crossed her mind from time to time, just what had motivated Maiev to devote her entire to life to Illidan in the only way she could, taking up the mantle of the Warden.

But considering the circumstances, she thought that maybe Maiev should have been the last thing on his mind. Rising to her feet and smoothing out the creases of her dress, she felt a scowl overtake her features. "Fine," she huffed, unable to really keep the bitter venom from her voice. "Stay here for all I care. I have to go and find Malfurion."

That, it seemed, was enough to rouse him from his slumber. Illidan sat up quickly, fast enough to cause a sharp pain in his head. The blurs of darkness and light swam, filled with only Tyrande's glowing aura, and all at once the memories of the previous night came crashing down upon him. He recalled the way she had felt as she trembled under his touches, recalled each breathy gasp and moan she had given just for him. So many years of imagining how it might feel to finally have Tyrande in his arms, to feel her skin pressed to his own, to hear his name falling from her lips in a sigh of ecstasy, and now he finally knew. No self-created scene had ever been able to compare to the reality of it, and Illidan knew that he would not soon be forgetting how it had felt to finally turn his fantasies into something so tangible.

"Tyra," he murmured softly, choking back a yawn and pushing himself up to his feet. He tried to offer her a small smile, waited for a reply, for anything at all. But he was met with only a hollow silence, and so he opted for a blank expression instead. His heart skipped a beat in his chest, but he worked hard to keep his worries contained, refused to give away his fears that she might abandon him all over again. Illidan wasn't sure he could survive losing her all over again, not after what had happened.

The only response was the rustling of leaves and the flickering of her white glow as she moved away from him, a wavering flame that might go out at any given moment. "Come on," she called out to him. "The demonic corruption spreads with every second that we waste."

He followed the sound of her voice and, when that had gone, the sound of her footsteps, as she led him on. More than once he thought of asking her what they would do now, where they would go from this point on. But he never seemed able to work up the courage, and the words never seemed to sound right in his head, so he chose to say nothing at all.

…

They had barely even stepped into Nordrassil when Shandris Feathermoon appeared, flanked by a pair of stone-faced Sentinels atop powerful Nightsabers. The younger elf eyed Tyrande up and down, taking in her ruined appearance, the crimson blood that still stood out violently against the white of her dress. Her gaze flickered to the Betrayer, but she didn't dare look too long. He looked much the same as she recalled, and just as it had in her younger days, everything about him put her on edge.

Tyrande bowed her head respectfully to the esteemed elven woman. "Shandris," she greeted, but was immediately interrupted.

"Shan'do Stormrage has asked that you be brought to him immediately upon your return," she stated, her voice strangely void of any emotion. Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and began to walk away from them, clearly expecting them to follow. Tyrande felt her mouth fall open, her brows knitting together deeply. Hands balling into fists at her side, she stole a glance at Illidan, but his own features were perfectly composed, unseeing emerald eyes fixated directly ahead.

Eventually, Tyrande did follow, but refused to acknowledge that she had been coerced into doing so. She was fueled by frustration, felt it rising within her, making her heart race and hands shake. If Malfurion truly believed that he was going to return from his years of silence and immediately start to push her around, he had another thing coming. Still, she allowed Shandris to lead her and Illidan, the other Sentinels falling into place at their sides. She kept her chin held high in spite of how the people may have stared. She ignored them all, their watchful stares and whispered words, and pressed on with all the dignity and pride she could manage.

Shandris took them to the edge of the new Well of Eternity, where Malfurion stood with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, staring out pensively at the still surface of the enchanted waters. The source of power and conflict alike. The thing the demons so desired, just as they had in the days of the past, so they might try to finish what they had started long ago, and summon their evil master forth into this world from whatever realm to which he belonged. The very thing that had earned Illidan his lifetime sentence, that had branded him a criminal against his own people, the same people he had only wished to protect regardless of what anyone else may have said.

At the sound of their approach, Malfurion turned away from the Well. His glowing eyes fell upon Tyrande, narrowing with a pained expression, with an unspeakable hurt and bitterness, with something far too close to disgust at the treachery she had committed against him. Or perhaps it was only her own guilty conscience imagining it there; she couldn't be sure either way. "Tyrande," he said coolly, none of the warmth or affection that his voice had held for her before. "I am glad to see you unharmed."

She didn't have to ask what it was he was implying. The way his gaze moved immediately to Illidan said enough. The air was thick with tension, and for a long time, not a one of them dared to move, their chests hardly even rising enough to indicate that they were still breathing. "Leave us," Malfurion said then, suddenly, giving a flick of his wrist, and it wasn't until Shandris had nodded to her Sentinels that Tyrande realized he wasn't speaking to Illidan at all.

Tyrande thought she might choke on just how painfully tense this whole situation was. She had expected it, of course- actually, she had half-expected them to outright attack each other on sight, so in a way, she thought she should have been counting her blessings that so far the most they seemed interested in doing was glowering at each other from a distance. But soon, she feared they might end up trapped in this moment for the rest of time, and with the threat of the Legion looming over them, they simply did not have that kind of time to spare.

"Furion," she said at last, and dug up some courage she hadn't known she had, using it to force herself to reach out and touch his arm. "Please, you must understand-"

"I must do nothing," he replied instantly, jerking away from her. There was no anger, no biting harshness in his voice, but neither was there any sort of defeat. More than anything, it was a deadly sort of calm, and Tyrande thought that perhaps that might have been worse than any sort of rage he may have been able to muster. "You disobeyed me, Tyrande. I forbade you from going to him-"

"And I will tell you now exactly what I told you then," she snapped, her turn now to cut him off. "You do not have the power to forbid me anything, husband or no." From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Illidan flinch, just barely, but chose to ignore it. "Whether you like it or not, Illidan _can_ help us."

Malfurion's careful stare flickered between the two once more. Tyrande did her best to ignore the feeling of dread that had apparently decided to take up permanent residence in her chest, the illogical, irrational fear that somehow he might be able to peer right through her and know just how deeply her violation truly ran.

It was then that Illidan finally spoke, the very first time since he and Tyrande had left the clearing earlier in the day. His voice was a low murmur, hardly even audible. "Brother," he said, but the single word was filled with far too much malice and disdain to be considered any real term of endearment. "It has been an eternity since last we saw each other." An eternity he had spent in darkness, in bitter loathing for the very person standing before him now. Once upon a time, he would have trusted his twin with his life. But now...now he was but a stranger, someone Illidan could hardly even believe carried the same blood in his veins. "How have you fared since you left me for dead?"

"Illidan," Malfurion muttered darkly. He felt an aching tug at his heartstrings, ancient memories better left untouched now being forced up to the surface. In Illidan's absence, it had been so easy to ignore them, to cast aside the thoughts of when they had been inseparable and all the disaster that had torn their bond to shreds. But with his brother standing before him now, it was hard to push those thoughts down, and every time he blinked, he could see them playing out across his mind. "You were sentenced to pay for your crimes. Nothing more."

"And who were you to judge me?" Illidan snarled, his voice rising in pitch to match the way his anger rose. His gaze slid past the earthy aura of his brother, one he gone so long without seeing, he had nearly forgotten entirely, and focused instead for a moment on the shimmering beacon of the Well that he had created. He could feel the power it emulated, could feel the way it washed over him as it hadn't done in so long. He could feel that familiar fire licking at his core. It mixed with his frustration, formed a burning rage that he struggled to contain.

Shaking his head a little in a vain attempt to refocus his attention, he glanced back to Malfurion. "We fought the demons side by side once, if you recall," he uttered under his breath, dipping his chin a little.

"Yes," Malfurion retorted. "Until you sold us out to the Highborne-"

"Enough of this!" Tyrande cried out suddenly, capturing both of their attention fully. She couldn't stand another minute of their fighting. Not when there were so many other things at stake. And not when she thought that if she was around them both for a moment longer she would collapse under the pressure of her own guilty conscience. Stealing a glance at Illidan from the corner of her eye, she said quietly, "What's done is done."

Watching the way her gaze shifted, Malfurion narrowed his own eyes. But he said nothing of it, and if Tyrande had noticed the shift in his expression, she didn't comment. Instead, she let out a careful sigh. "Illidan can help us drive back the demons," she insisted, giving a small nod, almost like she was trying to convince herself just as much as she was trying to convince him. Illidan gave no reply, neither confirming nor denying her words, and for a moment she wondered if he was even listening at all, wondered why she bothered to defend him if he had no interest in defending himself.

Malfurion shook his head slowly. "But at what cost, Tyrande?" He replied. "He is more likely to doom us than aid us. No, I will have nothing to do with this, with him. If this is the path you have chosen, then you will walk it alone."

Malfurion turned away then, a deep scowl etched into his features as he moved past them without another word or a single backwards glance. Illidan gave a snort of irritation, shaking his head a little and taking off in the complete opposite direction.

And once again, Tyrande was left behind, caught between the two.


	10. Chapter 10

_**ten**_

Tyrande found him sometime later, alone in the woods with his back against a tree and his unsettling green eyes closed tightly. For a long moment, she simply stood there, watching him. All the memories of the night they had shared came pouring back to her at once, a dizziness settling over her from the mere impact of them, a rush that wasn't entirely unenjoyable. A part of her knew that she was supposed to regret it, the passion of her crime, but looking at Illidan now, all she could seem to muster was a great sense of pain tinged with the faintest of longing for something she knew she must force herself to forget once and for all.

She took a few steps closer, ultimately closing the distance between them, dropping down at his side and daring to lean her head against his shoulder. The silence stretched on between them, almost as though it was a contest just to see who would be the one to finally break it. One that Tyrande eventually lost, a small sigh passing through her lips. "I am sorry," she muttered, glancing over at him from the corner of her eye. "I truly thought that he would-"

"That he would what?" Illidan interrupted her quickly. There was no anger in his tone, not even a trace of irritation. All that remained was this swelling sorrow that she could practically feel seeping from him and hanging in the air around them, thick and suffocating and threatening to crush her right under it. Illidan seemed to her now so utterly defeated, dejected, with him softly uttered words and slumped shoulders. He lacked the fire that had driven him on so many thousands of years ago, the flame and passion that he had possessed to which she had always been so drawn. "Welcome me back with open arms? After locking me up and forgetting all about me for so long? I was not so deluded as to believe that Malfurion would greet me with anything more than scorn and spite."

Blinking hard, and far longer than necessary, Tyrande dug her fingernails into the flesh of her thigh left exposed by the way her skirts fell away. "So what are we going to do, then?" She asked slowly, hesitantly. A moment later she felt a new weight settle over her hand, felt rough fingertips tracing each knuckle. Her eyes fluttering open, she repositioned herself so that she was facing him instead, able to tilt her head back and look up at him as she waited for his answer.

But the longer the seconds dragged past, the more she began to doubt he would ever say anything at all. Not that she could really blame him. What could possibly be done, when the situation was as impossible as theirs? He loved her, and she...well, she loved him too, of course. And with Malfurion having been gone for so long, she had caught herself wondering how much she could possibly still love him, really. She had waited for so long for him to return to her, and for what? So that she could turn her back on their sacred bonds and lay with his brother instead? But then, her reunion with Malfurion had felt cold, distant, and forced. Her reunion with Illidan had been an unyielding explosion of emotions she had tried so hard to deny for so long, all bursting free at once. Didn't that alone give her the answers she wanted?

"Nothing," Illidan said suddenly, his voice a low rumble in his chest that caused her to flinch. "We do nothing. We forget it ever happened."

"I can't do that!" Tyrande snapped in frustration. A swelling wave of panic was rising up in her chest as it became more and more clear that she was losing control of the situation. It was a feeling she had not known in ten thousand years, this desperation that came with being trapped between the two men, each of them holding onto her heart and pulling her in opposite directions. And once again, no matter what she did, someone would get hurt, including herself. "I can't just pretend-"

"You must," Illidan growled at her. His hand moved in a blur of motion to catch her chin, yanking her head to the side and forcing her to look up at him. Even if they couldn't really make eye contact, she could still sense the emotions pouring out of him, the frustration and sorrow and distress. "Nothing can come of this, Tyrande, and we both know it. You have to forget, and I have to leave."

Tyrande felt a fresh wave of dizziness come over her, and in spite of herself she had to latch onto Illidan's arm just to keep herself from swaying right over where she sat. "Leave?" She echoed faintly, blinking away the sudden tears that seemed to have sprung up in her eyes. "What do you mean, leave?"

Illidan released his hold on her and turned his own head to the side, stared off blankly into the forest. She wondered what it was he saw, how he had perceived the world since the day he sealed his fate by making dealings with the Legion. She wondered how he could sit there looking so expressionless when she thought that she might shatter into a million pieces right there. She felt as though she had been so strong for so long that the thought of having to act brave and impenetrable for a moment longer would tip her right over the edge. For once, she wanted to be allowed to crumble apart, wanted to be allowed to feel her heart breaking instead of having to keep herself so put together just to protect everyone that was depending on her.

"You can't have honestly thought I was going to stay here," he said eventually, not even so much as glancing back at her, "just so that my brother could remind me of all the atrocities I have committed and force me to endure the fact that you belong to him."

"I belong to no one," she huffed, though the words seemed to lack any real conviction. She had grown too tired to fight anymore. A few more minutes passed in strained silence, each a victim of their own torturous thoughts. Her initial panic had subsided, leaving behind only this dull empty ache at the idea of losing him all over again after only just getting him back. It had taken a long time to accept that he was gone from her life, and she knew it would be even harder to ensure a second time, especially not after what had happened between them.

Illidan knew quite well just how an eternity could feel, and yet those minutes that slipped away between them felt almost as long and painful as the thousands of years that had come before them. When Tyrande's voice, calming even with how it trembled, broke the silence again, it broke his heart right along with it. Because he knew, with all the certainty that he could possibly know anything, that there was no possibly way he could stay here, and that knowledge damn near killed him. To hear her sound so defeated at the thought of losing him again only made it that much harder. He hadn't dared to think she even cared, let alone missed him during his absence. To be proven so utterly wrong was more than he could stand.

"You said you would help me," she said, doing her best to keep her tone even and unattached. "What about the Legion? You promised to help us stop them."

And she had promised to stand beside him for all their life, but he didn't see it fit to pout that fact out. "I will help you," he said instead, adding lowly, "I have every intention of keeping my promise. I will go and hunt down as many demons as I can, and banish them once more from this world."

It was pointless to argue now. Tyrande knew this, as much as she hated to admit it. He would leave, and either she would lose him forever, or she would be able to establish the foundations of possibly seeing him again. Maybe she couldn't know when or where or how, but she needed him to know that whatever the past may have indicated, Illidan would always hold a place in her life and her heart.

Sighing a little and pushing her dark curls behind her long ears, Tyrande rose to her feet, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself. She could do this. She had to do this. Maybe she could never truly forget that single night, the intimacy that would be forever burned into her mind, the memories all that remained of him. But she was strong. She had endured this before, under much worse circumstances, and she could do so again. Her feelings for Illidan had been dragged back to the front of her thoughts from where she had locked them up long ago, brought out by their reuniting and her frustration with Malfurion, and she was just going to have to find a way to push them back where they belonged, where they couldn't hurt her anymore.

Scanning the surrounding area, her silver eyes fell upon a small bush half hidden by the shadows. With the faintest and most wistful of smiles upon her lips, she made her way to it and plucked from its branches a single golden flower. The moonlight that trickled through the leaves and glinted off its petals made it appear to almost flow, a small flicker of light in the darkness that surrounded them. Illidan had risen as well, and so when she returned to where he now stood, she had to tilt her head back just to look up at him.

She fumbled for his hand, placing the flower against his palm. Illidan wrapped his fingers gently around it, and for the first time in longer than she could even remember, a genuine smile graced his lips. "Now you shall always have a piece of home," she whispered softly. "And a piece of my heart as well."

Illidan hesitated for only a few short seconds before bringing his free hand up to rest against her cheek and bending in to press a soft kiss to the corner of her lips. It lacked the raw passion as before, the frantic, desperate need; instead it was gentle and longing, giving away all of the hurt and remorse he had tried so hard to hide from her. He allowed it to go on far longer than he should have, but finally pulled back. "And you," he replied, "will forever have all of mine."

Tyrande turned her head away from his touch, tried to blink back the tears that stung at her eyes. The space between them seemed endless, this great vacancy to remind him of all that he was leaving behind. It would be the one night he had been permitted to hold her, the memories of her breathy cries and her skin pressing to his own, that would carry him now, guiding him wherever he may end up.

...

It was some time later when Tyrande returned to Nordrassil, late enough that the first hints of morning were already pushing through. Stifling a yawn, she crept through the quiet village, unaware of the way the Sentinels watched her with questioning expressions.

She made her way to her home, small and humble as it was. Not for the first time, as she pushed open the door and crossed over the threshold, she caught herself missing the smooth stone walls and glistening tile floor of the great temple. Time had altered much of what she recalled about those long ago days in Suramar, but she had never quite forgotten how beautiful the temple had been.

Tyrande had barely managed to make it inside and close the door when she heard a deep voice calling out her name. Whirling around, her head snapping up, she spotted Malfurion at the end of the corridor, watching her carefully with an expression that she couldn't quite decipher. "Where have you been?" He asked, bypassing any real form of greeting, crossing his arms over his chest.

Tyrande bowed her head for but a second, more for show than any real sign of respect. She had not quite let go of what had happened in the Barrows, the way he had dared to tell her what she could and could not do. No, regardless of who he was or how long they had been bound together, Malfurion would never possess that sort of power over her. Especially not when he had left her alone, left her to try and clean up the disaster left over after the war-

She blinked hard and forced those thoughts aside. She had made her mind up long ago that she could not hold onto such resentment or else it would consume her fully and destroy whatever could possibly remain of their love after a lifetime spent away from each other. She opened her eyes to meet his gaze again. "Illidan has gone."

A series of emotions played out across his face, anger and confusion and sadness that flickered past too quickly for her to assess their sincerity. "You let him go?" He replied then, his tone strangely detached. "He is a criminal, Tyrande. He cannot be trusted. And now you have unleashed him, and for all we know he is returning to the Legion's side as we speak-"

"I trust him," she snapped, cutting him off so quickly he was left standing with his jaw hanging open. "Illidan has never betrayed me before, and I doubt he will do so now."

Malfurion pulled his brows together in a frown, letting her words play over again in his mind. "Ah," he muttered after a low while, lowering his burning stare to the floor, his head weighed down by the antlers that now twisted up from his scalp. "So after all this time, he still holds feelings for you, then?"

Tyrande thanked Elune for the dimness that filled the halls, for it did well to conceal the blush that arose to her cheeks and tinged them crimson red. "Does it matter?" She retorted, making her tone as icy as possible. Her words were confirmation enough for Malfurion, who only scoffed and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Tyrande ignored him completely. "He has left to go and fight back the demons, as he told me he would. We should be placing our focus on doing the same."

With that, she began to move past him, towards the wooden staircase that led up to her lofted bed chambers. As she did, however, Malfurion's hand reached out to wrap around her wrist, holding her in place. She turned to face him with a snarl on her face, but the instant she saw the pain in his eyes when he looked down at her, she felt her own features soften. Of course, it wasn't as if she hated him. She may have been upset with him for a number of reasons, and the projection of her own conflict and guilt did little to alleviate that, but she would always care for him.

And so a moment later, when he asked her with a low voice that shook far too much for someone so assured and so powerful, if she even loved him anymore, she forced her lips up into a small smile and forced her emotions out of the way. She stepped forward into his hold, slipping her arms around him and resting her head against his chest.

"Of course I love you," she whispered. "I wouldn't have waited all this time for you if I didn't."

This answer seemed to soothe his worries for now, at least enough not to press her any further, and the relief of that was almost enough to drown out the way her heart seemed to crumble in her chest.

...

Illidan moved carefully through the forest, holding tightly to his emerald glaives and pausing every few steps to assess the surrounding area. He didn't know where he was going, only knew that he must press on, and that if this invasion was half as bad as Tyrande seemed to make it out to be, it wouldn't be long it until he ran into some demons that needed slaughtering.

For the time being, though, there was nothing to distract him from his own mind, a situation he was far too used to by now. His own feelings were scattered all over the place, rising up within him and threatening to tear him apart. He was angry at his brother for refusing to think logically, refusing to accept that Illidan had long since atoned for his so-called crimes, which had been deemed such by Malfurion in the first place. He was angry that after all this time he honestly still believed that Illidan was no better than the demons he sought to kill. He was angry with Tyrande for allowing him to have her so fully for one perfect night, and angry with himself for not knowing how to keep her for all the rest of them as well.

He was perfectly content to wander the woods and revel in his own hatred, and probably would have continued to do so, if not for the sudden sound of muffled footsteps coming from somewhere behind him. They were accompanied with the shifting of plated armor. He spun around in an instant, his heartbeat rising and thudding away in his chest, honestly expecting to find himself looking at the brilliant red glow that was Maiev Shadowsong. He had very nearly forgotten all about her, so wrapped up in the stolen time he had spent with Tyrande, but now he felt the panic creeping back in. They had left her with the bodies of her murdered Watchers in the depths of the Barrows, and he realized all at once that she would very likely seek him out once more and demand retribution.

But no, it was not Maiev's aura that glowed before him. This aura was unfamiliar, an inky black, maybe even something darker, if such a thing existed. It seemed, somehow, to tint everything around it with that same darkness that blotted out anything that came too close, swallowing it up until it was all consumed in the black without leaving even a trace of light behind.

A menacing laugh broke free from the shadowy figure, and then a low, alluring voice reached his ears, saying nothing more than a softly murmured hello.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay in posting. Monday was the holiday, and Tuesday was...it was a mess, really. Anyway, I do hope this more than makes up for it.**

 **Not going to lie, this chapter was insanely fun to write. I got carried away with Maiev, as usual, so enjoy that feels rollercoaster. We are getting closer to the end here! Agh. I'm so pumped for the third book, you guys. I've been going over my prep and all that, and I just want it now. I hope you'll all be excited too. -Skye xx**

 **PS: Thanks to Blame the Priest for pointing out that I had a half finished sentence somewhere in here...I hope no one else saw that...**

 **...**

 _ **eleven**_

Maiev Shadowsong strode into Nordrassil with her head held high, carrying herself with an air of purpose and determination, the kind that drew the attention of everyone she passed. Shadowed by the coverage of the great tree and followed by the last of the Watchers, she ignored every one of them, every last stare that fell upon her, gazes filled with shock and awe that the elusive Warden had come above ground for the first time in thousands of years.

The trek up Hyjal had been long and tedious, silent due to the fact that none dared speak a word to their fearless leader. But in that time Maiev had been able to think far more clearly, to shove each one of her emotions back into the prison cell that her heart had become. They were burdens, those feelings, nothing more. A weight to hold her down and drown her in a sea of distractions. She had been blinded by her love for Illidan once before, but those days were long past, torn to shreds like all the rest of the world had been because of what he had done.

She would not allow herself to make those same mistakes again. Her moment of weakness in the barrow den had proven far too perilous. Now Illidan was free, his liberation bought with the blood of those she had sworn to protect. Their deaths were her fault, her crime to atone for, her sin to live with. Because she had removed that shell of armor that had encased her for so long, that had hidden away whatever may have remained in her heart for him, she had dared to open herself up to him, and so she had left herself vulnerable. And for what? He still didn't want her. He still left her alone the moment Tyrande Whisperwind appeared. No, it seemed that not even ten thousand years could change things between them.

Maiev spotted her target ahead, pacing the length of the dock that hung out before the Well. For a moment, she allowed her gaze to linger on its glistening surface, the way it rippled from the slightest breeze, the way it seemed to fill the air with the ancient hum of raw magical energies. She recalled with a new wave of anger the day it had been created, when Illidan had committed his final act of betrayal and made them a target for the Legion once again when he had nearly killed her brother, who had abandoned them all long ago, when she had damned herself to this life of playing keeper to someone who could never truly be kept.

"Wait here," she said softly, raising a hand to halt Naisha and the others where they stood. They were a small group now, pitifully so, but they were all she had left, and she would do whatever it took to keep them from meeting the same fate as the others. She moved away from them, towards the one she sought to speak with, and all they could do was watch her go.

"I'm worried about her," Naisha murmured wistfully, absently shifting her weight from one plated boot to the other. "I have never seen her like this before."

"We're all worried," chimed in one of the other women, an emerald haired elf by the name of Cordana Felsong, with a wide eyed expression that gave away her youth. "Warden Shadowsong has always been a symbol of strength and composure. It is hard to see her so unnerved and shaken up."

Naisha's lips twitched up into the ghost of a sympathetic smile. "When Maiev pledged herself to her duty, she left behind any other sense of devotion. She has spent every day since she became the Warden looking after the Betrayer, ensuring his imprisonment was secure. To have that taken away from her, and in so violent a manner it was...well, it has taken away all that remained of herself. It has left her with nothing at all."

"Not nothing," Cordana interjected, shaking her head slowly, her gaze never straying from Maiev as she moved further away from them. "She has us. No matter what, she has our loyalties."

…

Her footsteps echoed off the wooden dock, shattering the silence as they did, but ultimately came to a halt as she fell into place beside the towering form of Malfurion Stormrage. She lifted her helm from off her head, shaking out her pastel hair as she bent down to place it beside her. The ancient druid gave no indication of having heard her or even noticing her at all, making no motions or sounds whatsoever, just staring out at the Well as if it might hold the answers to whatever questions plagued him.

At last, when the silence had stretched on far too long, she cleared her throat and dared to glance at him from the corner of her eye. "I had almost forgotten how beautiful it was," she said quietly, tilting her head to the side as she refocused on the enchanted waters.

"As did I," Malfurion responded slowly. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, shaking his head just enough to be noticeable, and finally turned to face her full on. "I suspected you would show up here sooner or later," he said then, dipping his chin a little so as to show his respect. "It is good to see you again, Warden Shadowsong."

"I could say the same to you, Shan'do Stormrage," Maiev replied, her tone even and overly formal, as she returned his gesture. "If only the circumstances of my return were more pleasant."

Malfurion gave a short laugh, but it was hollow and vacant of any real humor. "Yes," he said dryly. "Another sentiment I understand far greater than I would care to." Stealing another glance at the waters of the Well, which had fallen still now that the breezes had ceased to dance upon the surface, he let a small sigh pass through his lips. Standing so near to him, she could see the way time had altered his features, leaving him far more worn and wearing a general appearance of exhaustion, which apparently not even the centuries he had spent sleeping within the Emerald Dream were able to ease. But in many ways he was still the same as she remembered him, although in truth it was somewhat difficult to ignore the antlers that emerged from his scalp.

Tearing his gaze away once more, he gave her an overly pointed look. "I assume you are here due to my brother's escape."

Maiev was unable to stop herself from scoffing at that. "Escape is hardly the word I would choose to use here," she retorted, her tone as sharp as a blade, or perhaps the arrows that had pierced and murdered each of her Watchers. "More like mindless slaughtering of the innocent."

At her words, Malfurion's brows pulled together into a deep frown, some unknown emotion flashing in his eyes, gone before she was really able to decipher it. Still, it was enough for her to tell that Tyrande had clearly not been entirely truthful in her recounting of what had transpired down in the Barrows, and Maiev couldn't help but wonder, however fleeting a thought it may have been, just what other details the high priestess may have left out.

For now, though, she pushed those thoughts aside, opting instead to bow her head and cast her gaze at the ground before her feet. "I am sorry," she muttered. "I would have thought that your wife might have told you. In her liberation of Illidan, she murdered over half of my Watchers. Only twelve of us remain now."

This time, there was no missing the pain in his expression. "Maiev," he mumbled. His tone was gentle as he raised a hand and brought it down to rest upon her shoulder. She might have even taken some comfort in the notion, but the silver plate of her armor kept her from feeling the touch at all. "You have my deepest sympathies. I cannot fathom what drove Tyrande to such desperate measures that she would take the lives of her own kin just to help the Betrayer."

Maiev felt her heart skip a beat in her chest, but somehow managed to ignore it, to keep her features as composed as possible, save the melancholy smile she allowed herself to flash up at him, gone almost as soon as it dared to cross her lips. "I can only begin to imagine," she murmured lowly.

The pair fell silent again, but this time it was Malfurion that broke through it, his voice gruff and distance, lacking the courteousness that it had contained before. "I doubt you came all the way up here from the Barrows just to recount the crimes of my wife," he said eventually, blinking for a moment longer than necessary, as if he could just close his eyes and make it all go away. When they opened again, there was a new spark aglow in them, some driving fire that hadn't been there before. "And I am quite sure you aren't here to seek my permission to pursue him. You would plan to do so regardless of my own opinions on the matter. So tell me, Warden, what it is that you want?"

His words caught Maiev off guard. He seemed to see right through her, to know exactly what she wanted long before she said it, perhaps even before she herself knew what it was. It was unnerving, the way he seemed able to read her like an open book, when even those closest to her struggled to see the true girl that resided within that infamous armor. She wondered if perhaps it was just because there was this undeniable bond there between all of those that had survived the war, and that Malfurion was able to recall that timid little girl in the white dress, defenseless and afraid.

When she spoke, she felt far more like that little girl than the cold and empty woman she had grown up to become. "I need help," she said, hating how feeble and weak she felt as the words spilled from her lips. Still, she forced herself to go on, thinking that maybe that was just a different kind of strength in admitting that she might not be able to do this all on her own. "I barely have anyone left, not nearly enough to recapture Illidan and maintain the remaining prisoners as well. He is far too dangerous. Please, Malfurion. I need reinforcements."

Malfurion pressed a hand to his temple, letting out a slow hiss of a breath through his teeth. "I would help you if I could," he said at last. He took a step away then, away from her and away from the Well, turning his back on both and making his way down the pier in slow and easy steps.

Maiev had little choice but to scoop up her helm and scurry after him, her own steps hurried just to catch up. She felt her frustration rising, swelling within her, laced with a panic that spread through her ribcage and clenched at her heart. "Don't you even care that he is freed?" She cried. Gone was the soft hesitation with which she had spoken before. In its place was a frantic desperation. "You are the one that ordered his imprisonment-"

"-And I charged _you_ with keeping him there, Warden Shadowsong," Malfurion interrupted, casting her a quick look from the corner of his eye. "I know very well what my orders were, Maiev, and believe me, I know very well the threat that Illidan poses to my people. But Tyrande seems convinced that he will be able to aid us in this coming storm against the Burning Legion."

His words were enough to cause Maiev to halt right where she stood, stopping so abruptly that she nearly lost her footing and stumbled right to the ground. With widened eyes and parted lips, she stood there in shock, trying to figure out if she had heard him correctly. "The _Legion_?" She repeated, her voice trembling at the mere word. "They- they're back?"

Malfurion paused as well, but only enough to throw her a quick look over his shoulder. "Yes, I fear they are," he said gravely. "So forgive me if Illidan is the least of my concerns at the moment."

He left then, and Maiev didn't bother trying to chase after him. She was still in shock at what he had just told her. The Legion, the same endless demonic army that had destroyed their homeland, was back. And Illidan, who had served them once before, had endangered countless elves and cost them their lives, was freed. Now more than ever it was of the utmost importance that she bring him back. Suddenly, this was no longer just about her and her own selfish wants, but about carrying out the task she had been given, about protecting her people. She would be damned a thousand times before she would allow him to ally himself with the Burning Legion once again.

...

A haunting chorus of dark laughter echoed through the small clearing, bouncing off the trees and piercing Illidan's ears as he stared ahead at the gaping black mass of the aura before him. His lips curled back into a sneer, he reached over his shoulder in a flash of motion to free the glowing emerald glaives, felt their weight in his grasp, long forgotten and yet somehow still so familiar.

"You reek of death," he snarled, twirling his twin blades idly before him. The most he got as a reply was another amused laugh, arrogant and icy, serving only to further his distrust of whatever had stumbled into his path. It was no demon; no, this was unlike any sort of being he had encountered before, a gaping vortex that threatened to pull everything down into its ceaseless void of nothingness. Still, Illidan did not waver or back down. "You will regret approaching me."

"Come then," a reply came at last, followed by the distinct sound of metal against metal, a sword being pulled free from whatever ring fastened it into place. "You will find that we are evenly matched."

That was all the invitation that Illidan needed. And even if it hadn't been enough to convince him, the sudden sword arcing towards his face would have sufficed. The weapon seemed to possess an aura all of its own, similar to that of its master, that same inky blackness. They were connected, Illidan noticed then, little tendrils that hung between them and bound them together into one endless mass, so that it was nearly impossible to tell where one ended and the next began.

Illidan lunged to the side just in time to dodge the blow, then immediately whirled around to send the glaives crashing into the sword once again. Even as he staggered back from the impact, the shadows let out a new round of laughter. It may have sounded almost giddy and childlike, if it hadn't been chilling enough to make Illidan shiver.

For some time, they went back and forth, neither ever really able to gain the upper hand. Each swing was parried, each lunge was dodged, each attack was thwarted. As the shadows twisted in closer, Illidan just barely managed to catch the edge of the blade in between his own two weapons, far too close for comfort.

Illidan found quickly that they truly were almost perfectly matched, but neither of them seemed eager to admit that fact, and so their battle waged on until the first rays of the sunlight dared to tinge the edges of the horizon with the threat of morning.

At last Illidan withdrew, bowing his head quickly, his chest rising and faliing with each exhausted gasp for air. "We could go on fighting like this forever," he pointed out, lowering his glaives as an offering of a draw. The shadowed figure made a low humming noise, as he too backed down, replacing his enchanted sword at his hip. Only then did Illidan dare to slide the glaives back into place across his back, though he made sure to maintain his distance. "Do you have a name, then?"

A moment of pause passed between them, as though the shadowy figure was trying to determine whether or not he actually wished to answer the question. Eventually, though, he did give an answer, in a voice that was even more unnatural than his laugh had been, low and dark and reverberating, seeming to echo off the trees and the grass and the air itself. "My name is Arthas," he told the night elf. "My master has sent me to seek out your aid."

Something about his statement left Illidan feeling unnerved, though he couldn't be sure the exact reason why. "What aid could I possibly offer to you?"

Arthas tilted his head to the side, studied the elf that stood before him, the emerald tracery upon his skin and the matching glow of his eyes a telltale sign of his own dealings with the demons of the past. The death knight could not be certain why he had been sent here, but it mattered not. He would carry out this order without question, as he had each of the other tasks that had been presented to him.

"There is a dreadlord called Tichondrius," Arthas said then, slowly, taking his time to form each syllable as deliberately as possible. It was almost as if he took some great sense of pleasure from the mere act of dragging it all out as long as he could, of making the entire scene depend upon him, revolve around him like some magnificent and untouchable king. "He commands this undead army that has descended upon your forests. By use of a powerful artifact called the Skull of Gul'dan, he has been able to corrupt these lands."

Illidan was no fool, and he was far older than the being that stood before him now. "You wish for me to steal it," he replied. It wasn't even a question, not the way that he said it, and the lack of response was confirmation enough. "Why?" He added then.

Arthas offered up another short laugh, but this one was much colder and crueler than the previous ones had been, though certainly no less self-assured or arrogant. "Let's just say I have no love for Tichondrius," he said plainly, clearly content to leave any explanation at that. "And the lord I serve would... benefit from the Legion's downfall."

For Illidan, this was reason enough. Anyone that sought to bring an end to the wrath of the Burning Legion was, at least to some degree, an ally, and in the war against the might of such an unstoppable force, they would need all the allies they could get, regardless of their own hidden agendas. Illidan had learned long ago to seize opportunities where they arose, to take advantage of whatever connections he could make in order to reach his goals. It was what had driven him to form his initial allegiance with the Highborne so very long ago, knowing that it would gain him access to a way to end that battle. Whether or not his own people had ever chosen to understand his choices, he would not hesitate to make the same ones again.

Still, the question begged to be asked as to why he should trust the words of the man before him now, and so he did. And although he could not make out the features of Arthas' face, lost in the haze of the shadows that clouded and consumed him, Illidan couldn't help but imagine that he was smirking quite deviously, for that confident energy seeped from him and danced in the still air of the forest that surrounded them.

"My master sees all," Arthas retorted, the words almost biting. "He knows that you've sought power your whole life. A way to prove your loyalties and worth to your people. Now that very chance lies within your grasp. Seize it, Illidan Stormrage, and your enemies will be undone."

With that, the black void began to retreat, but its tainted energy still lingered, clinging to the blades of grass and leaves on the trees that it had touched. Illidan remained frozen in place long after Arthas had gone, replaying their encounter over and over again in his head. If what he had said was true, then by destroying the skull, he could cleanse the forests of the of the demonic corruption that had overtaken it. He could prove to his brother, and to every other Kaldorei that had branded him a traitor, that he was truly on their side.

And above all else, he could keep his promise to Tyrande.

With that final thought in mind, he turned on his heel and set off back into the depths of the woods.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Guess what? I didn't like the way this scene was written in WC3, so I abandoned like half of that. I mean, what's canon anyway. Clearly not something I know about anymore.**

 **I should really stop staying up all night and drowning myself in coffee.**

 **-Skye xx**

 **...**

 _ **twelve**_

As it turned out, finding the great demon called Tichondrius wasn't nearly as difficult as Illidan had been anticipating. The once great forests of Ashenvale were filled with corruption, the stain of death and demonic energies tainting every leaf and blade of grass. Illidan was able to follow this trail right to its source, encountering only small packs of demons and undead along the way, which he took down with ease.

It felt good, this newfound freedom. Too long he has spent bound in darkness, utterly useless and having long since lost faith of ever ascending from the Barrows again. It had been overwhelming at first, but now it seemed the most natural thing in the world. He had been granted a gift, whatever the cost he had paid in doing so. There was no changing the past, no altering the things he had done, the things that had been done to him. All he could do was go forth from here and use them for some semblance of good, regardless of what his brother or anyone else may have thought.

Ashenvale, for as vast and dense a forest as it was, seemed littered with little groves and clearings, and it was here that the trail of decay led Illidan.

Tichondrius was a towering beast of a demon, all tattered wings and enormous horns, but to Illidan he was just another verdant swirl of demonic energy, one that would be torn down and laid to rest like all the others that dared to stand in his way.

Anyway, his attention was far more focused on what lay behind him. This must have been the artifact that he had been told of, the blackened and corrupted thing responsible for the ruin of the woods. Illidan knew there was no way to walk away from this without a fight, a notion that appealed him more than it likely should have. But after being bound for so long, it felt good to test his potential, his abilities. And he had promised, hadn't he? He'd told Tyrande that he would do what he could to aid them in this war, and he had no intentions of letting her down, not this time. He could prove his worth and his loyalty, return home once and for all, and finally make things right for them. True, he had told her that there could be no future there, but if he was able to gain redemption, then perhaps he would be able to change that.

Taking a steadying breath and tightening his grip upon the glaives, Illidan braced himself for the unavoidable fight that was sure to follow. And then, in what was either a move of great bravery or great foolishness, he strode into the open expanse, head held high and fel tattoos glowing brightly.

"I come seeking the demon known as Tichondrius," he called out, his voice bellowing lowly as it carried on the breeze.

At the sound, the dreadlord spun around, rearing his head towards the source of the words. His own viridian eyes fixated on Illidan, narrowing slightly as they did. "And who are you," he replied, his own words coming out in a slow hiss, "to speak to me so freely?"

Illidan knew that any sane person would have been afraid, would have feared the terrible beast before him. But he had no illusions of sanity; he had lost it to the darkness of his cell some time ago. The liberation gave him the ability to do what others refused, such as stand face to face with an agent of the Burning Legion and dare to allow a small smirk to ease its way onto his lips. "I have come to retrieve the Skull of Gul'dan," he replied evenly, lifting his chin and his twin blades all at once.

Tichondrius met his words with a barking laugh. "Foolish mortal," he growled out in his deep and raspy voice. "You will quickly learn how unwise it is to approach one of the Nathrezim."

Illidan did not back down, lowering neither his weapons nor his emerald stare. "Your kind are all the same to me," he retorted. "Foul creatures to be exterminated."

He wasted no time then, charging headlong into battle. Tichondrius surpassed him in strength, but Illidan made up for it in both speed and determination, and in spite of the fel green fires that seared at his flesh, he landed blow after blow against the demon's own leathery skin, until his glaives glistened in the low light of the stars with dark blood.

As a particularly deep cut was drawn out against him, Tichondrius stumbled back, his unnatural features rearranged into a scowl and his eyes burning with something between loathing and surprise that Illidan had actually managed to pose a threat. "I grow tired of toying with you, night elf," he sneered.

Illidan flashed a menacing smile of his own. "I am just getting started." Letting a feral snarl rip free from his lungs, he lunged at the demon once more, his blades arcing above his head as he tackled him down to the ground. Tichondrius lashed out wildly with his deadly curved claws, ripping at the exposed skin of Illidan's bare chest. But he barely even registered the pain, focused all of his own attentions on his attacks, until at last he had managed to press the jagged edge of the glaive against the beast's throat.

Their gazes locked in a glare, Tichondrius gave another shaky laugh. "I applaud your courage," he murmured. "But it matters not. Your world will burn, and everything you hold dear will perish in the flames." With that, he used all that remained of his strength to shove Illidan roughly off of him, giving the slightest twitch of his claws, and vanishing from sight.

For a few long minutes, Illidan could only remain where he sat upon the hard ground, his chest rising and falling in great heaving breaths. He dared not move until he was certain Tichondrius was truly gone, just in case this proved to be some demonic trick meant to catch him off guard. But as the silence of the night stretched on around him, he finally deemed it safe to move, stumbling to his feet, discarding his weapons in the grass. The skull was close now, but a few feet away from him, and even in the darkness he could see the way its black aura twisted and flickered before him, almost as if to beckon him closer.

And so he followed its call, inching closer, until it was close enough that he could reach out and take it. Destroying the skull meant saving the forest from this corruption. Destroying the skull meant his salvation, his redemption, his atonement. Destroying the skull meant making things right, and keeping his promise to Tyrande.

Taking a slow, uneven breath, he closed his eyes, and he extended a hand to take it.

...

The gates to the orc encampment were flanked by a pair of heavily armored guards, and as Jaina tugged gently at the reins of her white horse, they nodded their approval to let her pass. It was strange, this turn of events. She remembered being a child and going to see one of internment camps, sneaking up as close as possible, Arthas faithfully at her side, and feeling this great sense of pain for those trapped inside. She understood, in a way, the reasoning and necessity for such drastic measures, but understanding did little to ease the feeling of guilt.

Now, those days were passed, and instead of watching their suffering through holes in a fence, Jaina was permitted to watch them rebuild, and felt a sense of something close to pride. If these souls, that had known nothing but war and death and pain since their first days on Azeroth, were able to regain their strength and their will to go on with all the dignity and honor they could, then perhaps the same could be done for her own followers, those that had fled the certainty of destruction that had waited for them in the crumbling kingdom of Lordaeron.

Dismounting and leaving her horse in the hands of the orc that tended to the worgs, Jaina took easy, confident steps towards the roughly assembled building that belonged to Thrall. Over the few short weeks, their visits had become more frequent, their hesitant alliance turning to an unlikely friendship. She found the young warchief easy to talk to, and even more so found that she cherished the ability to speak freely with someone, to release some of the silent burdens she had carried with her all this time. And Thrall, in turn, had even opened up to her and shared some of his own memories, bleak and upsetting as they may have been.

Upon entrance, another young guard nodded his recognition at the blonde, going so far as to offer her a small smile. She returned the gesture as she passed, making her way towards Thrall's chambers. As they had adjusted to her presence, the orcs had stopped insisting on escorting her everywhere; it gave her a sense of peace and accomplishment to know that she had gained their trust in spite of so many years of bitter history. The desperation had brought them together, and Jaina couldn't help but hope that it would last even after the threat of destruction had passed.

Reaching the door at last, she lifted a hand to knock. Thrall's low voice called out to her a moment later, and so she entered, a smile on her lips as she prepared to greet him. But the words quickly died in her mouth, and she came to a halt right in the doorway as she realized that they were not alone.

Their unexpected companion, Jaina recognized immediately as the prophet, the same man that had appeared before Antonidas, the same reason she had ventured to Kalimdor in the first place, the one who had delivered the terrible news that they were all in very real danger. So, she thought, it was not unrealistic for her to feel a sense of alarm and dread at seeing him now, wondering what sort of catastrophe might await her next. Her blue eyes flickered to Thrall, whose own expression was composed and serious.

"What's going on?" She finally asked, when she had remembered how to speak, her gaze returning to the prophet.

Bowing his head slightly and meeting her stare, he murmured lowly, "It's time."

...

The moment he reached out to brush his fingertips against the Skull of Gul'dan, Illidan felt a great surge of power unlike any he had known before. It was the most overwhelming feeling he had ever experienced, like an electric shock that travelled through him, igniting his veins as it moved through him. It was like a weight pressing in on him, suffocating him. In that instant that he took the Skull into his grasp, it was as if he was everywhere and nowhere all at once, existing both in this world, and in some other plane that wasn't quite real. A thousand images flickered across his mind, so vividly real, memories that he could picture as easily as they were his own, and yet he could practically feel them as they flooded his mind and almost seemed to merge with his own.

But if the stabbing pain that had overtaken his mind was enough to jolt him, it was nothing compared to the physical pain. A sudden ache had exploded from the top of his skull and between his shoulder blades, a throbbing that built and grew into something utterly intolerable. The intensity of it rose, until Illidan felt a snarl of agony tear free from his lungs, felt his knees collide with the earth as he staggered and collapsed. His fingers dug into the earth, his chest rising and falling as frantic breaths rushed out. His skin cracked apart, muscles contorting, bones trembling, and all he could do was close his eyes and try not to faint from the sheer torture that had taken over his body.

It was hard to tell exactly how long he stayed there, bent over on the ground and writhing in pain, but to Illidan it felt endless. Still, it passed, however slowly, until eventually all that remained was a dull ache, and he was able to open his eyes, and to breathe.

Pushing up to his feet, Illidan's hand moved to his scalp, to the source of the pain, and instantly flinched away. A shaky breath passed through his lips, a frown overtaking his features, as he reached up tentatively once again. His fingers brushed against something rough, jagged and hard, twisting up from his head. He followed the curve until the end, tracing the massive horns as a feeling of panic rose steadily in his chest. Whipping his head to the side, he reached over his shoulder and felt his fingertips collide with something leathery, something that hasn't been there before. His frown deepening into something closer to a scowl, he tensed his shoulder blades and felt the air shift around him as a pair of powerful wings unfolded.

However, he was never given the chance to react, before the sound of echoing footsteps appeared somewhere behind him. Scooping the skull off the ground and clutching to it tightly, Illidan turned around in a single movement and found himself face to face with Malfurion. His brother wore a deep sneer, but there was an undeniable flicker of fear in his glowing eyes as they moved over Illidan's form. "Demon," he snarled, recoiling, retreating a few steps back, and only then was Illidan's gaze drawn to the steadily pulsing light that was Tyrande, standing faithfully at Malfurion's side. It took everything in him not to move closer, to stay where he was, to turn his sights back on Malfurion instead.

"What have you done with my brother?" He asked then, and in spite of everything, in spite of years of bitter history and hatred, Illidan felt a slight pang in his chest, because underneath the harsh words and the biting tone, there was something else, something that made it seem like there was a part of him that still cared.

But that was impossible, and Illidan knew it. Malfurion didn't care about him, not at all. If he had, he never would have sentenced him to rot under the earth for all of time. He never would have abandoned him, betrayed him, left him for dead without so much as a backwards glance. No, Malfurion did not care about him.

So he lifted his head, struggling under the newly added weight of the horns, and narrowed his eyes. When it spoke, it was in a voice far deeper and raspier than it had been before, low and dark and undeniably demonic in the way that it pierced the air around them. "I am your brother," he murmured. "This is what I've become."

As the words spilled from his lips, he watched how the earthy colors of Malfurion's aura withdrew and wavered, and heard the audible gasp that pushed itself free from Tyrande's lungs. The world grinded to a halt around them, the silence overwhelming, the tension suffocating. There came the sound of gentle footfalls against the damp grass, followed by the sound of Malfurion's muttered protests, which must have been ignored entirely, for a moment later, Tyrande's hand extended to wrap around the base of one of his horns. "Illidan," she whimpered in a voice so soft and shattered and silky. The sound of it damn near broke his heart, and all at once he realized that he had lost her forever, that she would never see him as anything more than the monster that had betrayed them all. "How could you?"

Even as his heart cracked and splintered from the sound of her voice, Illidan jerked away from her touch. He didn't want to feel it, not anymore, didn't want to remember how breathless she had been that night in the clearing, how she had trembled underneath his weight, not now when she was gazing up at him through her lashes like she had never even seen him in her life, and even if he couldn't see it, he could _feel_ how her stare bore into his own. He didn't want to feel the heat of her breaths or be so overly aware of the space between them. He didn't want to know that after all they had shared together, after all that could have been between them, she had trotted right back to Malfurion's side like some faithful, mindless, petulant little child afraid to speak up for herself.

Illidan jerked away from her touch, retreated back a few steps, nearly stumbled and collapsed from the unfamiliarity of bearing the horns and the wings, and how they threw his entire balance off. "I have done nothing wrong," he snapped, and almost without realizing it, clutched the Skull of Gul'dan closer to him, as if it had anything left to offer him. "This is the artifact that was being used to destroy these lands. I have slain its master and reclaimed it, all in the name of keeping my promises to you. The forest will heal, in time."

This, it seemed, was not enough for Malfurion. HIs hand shot out to grab onto Tyrande's shoulder, shoving her roughly behind him, moving closer to his twin as he did. His heart was a fluttering mess in his chest, threatening to pound its way right out through his sternum, and his veins were alight with a rage that lived up to his very name. Because he had known, of course. He had known when Tyrande had strayed from him in the Barrows and disobeyed his commands. He had known when she wandered back into Nordrassil a full day later, splattered in blood and keeping her silver eyes cast towards the ground. He may have been away for a long time, but absence did not less his love for her, and it was because he loved her so much that he had been able to tell from the moment he saw her that she was carrying inside her a deep and secret guilt. But it had never been as obvious as it was in that moment, in the way that she filled with so much remorse and sadness for Illidan and just how far he had fallen.

"You have traded your soul," Malfurion said at last, his own voice shaking with all of his anger, deadly quiet as he shot him a poisonous gaze. "You are no brother of mine."

"Furion-" Tyrande interjected, reaching out to grab onto his shoulder. He quickly shook her off, wincing at her touch and the feeling of utter treachery that went along with it.

"Silence!" He commanded, shooting her a quick scowl being fixing his gaze on Illidan once more. "Get out of here, Illidan, and don't you dare come back here."

"Mal, please," Tyrande begged, reaching out for him once again, her eyes trying desperately to meet Illidan's. "He's done nothing but what I asked-"

"My decision is final!" Malfurion roared, yanking away from her touch. "Do not make the mistake of disobeying me again."

Tyrande's wide and frenzied eyes made their way to Illidan, saw the way his expression contorted with disgust and anger and this deep sadness as he realized that it all was hopeless. She wanted little more than to go to him, than to tell him that it was all okay, that she understood. But instead, she stayed where she was, bowing her head and remaining quiet as Malfurion had instructed.

This was the final straw for Illidan. He could no longer stand to stay there and watch the last person in the world that had ever fought for him give up. Twitching his wings idly behind him, he narrowed his eyes. "So be it, brother," he scoffed, the word filled with all the animosity he could muster. He shouldered past him, moved towards the treeline, and left them both behind, never once daring to look back.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: So, I don't play Horde, and I don't know anything about Orcish or how the grammar works, but I CAN tell you that the term of endearment used in this chapter by everyone's fave warchief is pulled from the wowwiki/orcish page, and "supposedly" translates to 'my love'. I just wanted to put that out there before someone was like 'waht are you doing'. If it's wrong, it's the wiki's fault. I DID MY RESEARCH, DAMMIT.**

 **As always, my heart goes out to those of you that are still here after all this time xx -Skye**

 **...**

 _ **thirteen**_

Malfurion was no stranger to dreaming. He had spent the vast majority of the last ten thousand years trapped in an endless state of dreaming, one from which waking was nearly impossible. As such, he understood that dreams held deep meaning, that they could possess signs not meant to be ignored.

After the horrible scene with his brother, Malfurion and Tyrande had returned to Nordrassil. She was silent the entire journey, not even so much as sparing a glance in his direction. To say it hurt would be an understatement; in all these years, no matter how far from her he had felt, his feelings had never wavered. His love for her had remained true. But he would not allow that to deter him from his decision. He had been right about Illidan from the start. He could not be trusted. He had little interest in helping them, only furthering his own warped motives, whatever those may have been, and plotting against his own blood, his own twin, to try and steal the affections of the only woman Malfurion had ever loved.

He had gone straight to bed once they had made it home, leaving her to wallow in her miseries and her secrets, leaving her with little more than a muttered goodnight. But sleep was difficult, and he was restlessly tossing and turning for the better half of the night. When he did finally manage to drift off into unconsciousness, the dreams came. They filled his mind with images of Tyrande and Illidan, nightmares too real to be ignored or denied. His subconscious knew what his waking mind had not been able to accept, that whatever had transpired between them was more than he could bear to imagine.

Several times he woke with a start, and each time the dreams returned. When the sun had just started to push its way past the horizon, be drifted off once more. This time, the dream was different. Malfurion was alone in the woods, and the sky was ablaze with burning fires, and in the distance he thought he could hear the sounds of screams, but they were too muffled and far away for him to tell for sure. This scene was familiar to him, like the ghost of a memory that he had almost managed to forget, even if he could never truly forget that ancient war that had nearly ended them all.

"The Legion will return to finish what they started all those centuries ago."

The sudden and unexpected voice sent Malfurion spinning, searching the darkened depths of the forest for the source of the words. But he found himself alone, only him and the trees. Or it seemed that way, but after a second glance, he caught sight of a flutter of wings, inky black as a raven landed on the low branch of a nearby tree. Narrowing his eyes, he watched as it settled into place, its beady black eyes staring right back at him.

"I will not allow them to destroy my home," he said, lifting his chin defiantly, as though to rise to some imaginary challenge.

The raven on the branch tilted his head to the side, and although it never moved its beak he knew that the voice he had heard was its own. "While I appreciate and applaud your bravery, Druid, I'm afraid you will not be able to defeat them on your own."

"What choice do we have?" Malfurion cried, hating the way the words were laced with this desperation he could not deny. He had been trying so hard to keep it all together, but he could not pretend that he wasn't afraid everything was going to fall apart. The last time the Legion had attacked, the Kaldorei had found allies, without whom they never would have stood a chance. But this time, they were completely alone.

"Come to the base of Mount Hyjal," the voice told him, as though whatever entity it was that spoke, it could read his very thoughts. "And there you will find the answers you seek." With those final words echoing all around him, the raven lifted its wings, vanishing so quickly it might as well have never been there at all, and all Malfurion could do was stare at the spot it had just perched.

Malfurion awoke with a start, jerking up in bed and gasping for breath, though no amount of air seemed enough to fill his lungs. The raven's words were sounded in his mind.

He knew better than to ignore significant meanings of dreams.

...

He found Tyrande outside, sitting on the dewy grass with her legs stretched out before her, leaning back on her hands. She was staring up at the moon like it possessed all of the answers in the world, even those to the question she knew not how to ask, or was perhaps simply too afraid to.

"Tyrande," he said, her name a slow and soft whisper, lacking the usual emotion that it carried whenever he spoke it. She barely even bothered to acknowledge him, nothing more than the slightest tilt of her head in his direction. "We must go," he told her then, and this time she did look back at him, giving him a questioning look. Although she said nothing at all, her gaze prompted him to continue on. "I have reason to believe the aid we required to fight back against the Legion is awaiting us at the base of the mountain."

"And what makes you so sure?" she asked and it was impossible to ignore the edge of malice in her voice. It hurt him more than he cared to admit, to know that the bond he had always believed would be immortal, eternal, was now so close to breaking.

Still, he choked back that hurt and forced himself to meet her gaze. "I suppose you might say a little birdie told me."

...

They left immediately, at his urging. It was almost a full night's journey down the mountain pass, and he feared that if they move too slowly the opportunity would be lost on them. Tyrande was silent as ever, her head held high as her body shifted with each movement of the great saber that carried her. Several times he opened his mouth in an attempt to strike up some conversation, anything to break through the painful silence and ease the tension that seemed to have taken up residence between them. But each time he snapped his mouth shut once again and said nothing, afraid that any words would only add to the distance between them.

At the base of the mountain, there was a small cave, nothing more than a slight opening, and somehow without really knowing he knew that this was where they were meant to be. Malfurion dismounted his great stag, and Tyrande did the same to Ash'alah. But before she could make her way to the opening, his hand snapped out almost against his will to grab her wrist, tugging her back and holding her in place.

"Tyrande," he started, but quickly snapped his mouth shut again as he contemplated his words carefully. "Tyra," he tried again a moment later. She stared up at him with a blank expression, lips parted and eyes widened. "About Illidan-"

"Just leave it, Malfurion," she snapped harshly, yanking her arm free from his hold. "You made your decision quite clear. Who am I to go against your wishes? Never mind that it was I that led our people all this time, that held everything together and offered them the hope and strength needed to rebuild. Never mind that it was I who freed him, and put my faith in him-"

"At the cost of how many lives?" He retorted, his eyes narrowing in anger. "Warden Shadowsong told me of the blood you shed, the Watchers that you slaughtered all in the name of saving him. And yet you call yourself a protector? You lost the right to make decisions for our people the instant you began killing them just so you might see him one last time."

She had nothing more to say after that, and Malfurion supposed that he didn't either. Shouldering past her, he made his way into the cave, without even bothering to glance back and see if she was following.

...

"I don't like this," Jaina said, shivering a little as she wrapped her arms around her chest, a feeble attempt to hold herself together. She felt as though she might shatter at any moment; she had finally managed to get comfortable, to get used to her new life here, and the unexpected arrival of the prophet had uprooted all of that like it was nothing.

Lifting her chin, her azure eyes met the steady gaze of Thrall's. The orc raised a hand to rest upon her shoulder, gentle and soothing, a small reminder that she was not alone. It always astounded him how small and breakable she was, how something so fragile could contain such a strong spirit. "Be brave, _ha rega_ ," he told her, reveling in the smile she managed to muster as he moved his hand to the side of her face, his thumb trailing idly over her cheekbone, feeling the softness of her skin under the roughness of his calloused fingers. "We have endured this long, have we not?"

Jaina felt relief wash through her as she was able to draw some comfort from his reassurances. She raised her own hand to place on top of his, linking their fingers together, and for one moment none of the rest of it mattered, because they had each other, and somehow Jaina felt in that moment that, so long as that remained true, there was no foe they could not vanquish. She knew how unlikely an alliance it was, how forbidden it was- or would have been, where they still in the eastern lands. But here in Kalimdor, there was nobody to make the rules for them, to tell them what was right or wrong. All they had to listen to was their hearts.

Her lips parted then, though she hadn't the slightest idea what she might say to him, how she could possibly find the words to describe the feeling that had spread from her heart, through her chest, chasing out the shadow that had been there before. For as long as she could remember, her heart had belonged only to Arthas- now just thinking his name made her throat constrict and her stomach twist and knot within her, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut and block the world out entirely just so that she might try and calm her breathing. But when her eyes snapped open, it was to see Thrall's own cerulean orbs, filled with concern as they fixated on her, and she was able to concentrate on that until she had gotten herself back under control.

She started to speak, perhaps to thank him for the mere fact that he had the capabilities to keep her from shattering completely, but the sudden sound of footsteps ricocheting off the walls of the cave kept her silent, as she whirled around towards the entrance. She expected to see the prophet there, tired of keeping them waiting when he had been the one to call them forth in the first place.

But instead her gaze fell upon a lithe, slender woman, dressed in a translucent white dress that clung to her curves and her pale blue skin. "We don't have time for this, Malfurion," she snapped as she tossed her long navy tresses over her shoulder and glanced back at her companion. He stood tall in the small cave, taller even than the woman at his side, with thick emerald hair and a pair of thick antlers twisting up from his scalp. "What are we _doing_ here?"

Jaina felt her brows knit together in a frown, her gaze flickering to Thrall, and then back to the newcomers. She had never seen this manner of creature before, but their ethereal forms reminded her of the Quel'dorei back east, and she realized with a start that these must have been the fabled Night Elves she had read of in the ancient tomes at the Dalaran library.

When the man named Malfurion spoke, his voice was low, meant only for the ears of the woman. "A raven spoke to me in a dream and summoned me to this place."

His words resonated within the human; surely this raven he spoke of was the very same that had come before Antonidas, that had guided her and Thrall both to where they were now. Without hesitation or a second thought, Jaina stepped forward, away from the shadows and into plain view, and said, "We have been summoned here as well."

Thrall's clear blue eyes darted between Jaina and the elves, startled by her boldness, but a moment later he too came to stand at her side. It was painfully silent for a long while, as the unlikely group stared each other down, a silence that was broken only when Tyrande narrowed her eyes at them. "You are not welcome here," she sneered, turning away and crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

Malfurion looked on at her with surprise clear in his expression, but quickly composed it. "Who are you, outsiders?" He asked, his tone far softer than that of his companion, civil and cordial, though still undeniably laced with distrust.

The blonde offered up a small smile, doing her best to ignore the icy demeanor with which the towering woman greeted them. "My name is Jaina Proudmoore, leader of the human survivors of Lordaeron." Her words clearly meant nothing to them, if their blank stares were any indication.

Sensing the quickly swelling tension, the orc quickly dipped his chin in a quick show of respect." I am Thrall," he answered. "Son of Durotan, and Warchief of the Horde-"

"Your kind are responsible for the death of Cenarius!" Tyrande interrupted, whirling around to face him once more, her eyes burning with accusation.

In spite of the twinge of sorrow that resonated in his heart, Malfurion shot her a warning glare. It almost looked as though he might try and scold her for her animosity, although a part of him understood why she felt it was warranted. But before any of them could speak again, there came a great rustle of wings as the raven swooped in, landing in the center of the cave. The four unwilling companions watched in varying stages of surprise as his form shifted, somehow slowly and yet all at once, until a man stood before them where the black winged bird had just been.

"Peace, Priestess," he said, giving a knowing look to Tyrande. His voice was calm, but filled with a great power and authority, and somehow even she knew better than to speak out against him, though her features remained just as fierce. Turning his gaze from her, he looked at each of the others, one by one, before finally meeting her silver eyes once again. "They have come to aid you in this coming war against the Legion."

Her elongated brows rising, Tyrande's gaze flickered between Jaina and Thrall. "Them?" She scoffed. "We do not need them." Not when they had come into her lands, the forests she had defended for so many centuries, the forests she would have gladly laid down her life for, and defiled them so. Not when they had brought the demise of their patron guardian, who had protected them and offered them guidance since the beginning of time. Why would she ever put her trust in them, knowing the horrible atrocities they were capable of?

Thankfully, it was Malfurion who spoke out, his words directed at the prophet. "And who are you to make us such an offer?"

The elder man held his gaze without wavering. But when he spoke, his voice held no confidence or self assurance. It trembled with uncertainty, and Malfurion thought he could see an invisible cloak of guilt and burden settle in around him. "I...I am the one responsible for the Legion's return," he confessed, bowing his head at last. "And I am telling you now, the _only_ chance this world has for survival, is if you all unite together against the greatest enemy ever to threaten it."

His words hung heavily in the air around them, pressing in on them, the severity and weight suddenly far too real for any one of them to handle. Then, when a couple of long moments had dragged past, Jaina gave a single, small nod. "Okay," she murmured. Her gaze flickering to Thrall, she added softly, "I have already learned that allies can be found in the most unexpected of places. I will do whatever it takes to keep my people- and all our people- safe."

Thrall nodded his agreement. All eyes fell upon the pair of elves, then. "We will offer aid in any way we can," Malfurion replied, but at the sound of a small huff from his side, he looked to his wife, whose defiant expression seemed to be wavering slightly as her own stare flitted about the room.

"Alright, _fine_ ," she drawled at last, letting out an exasperated sigh. "But only because I refuse to allow the demons to desecrate these lands once again. If we must work together to obtain that, then...so be it."

And so, their unlikely alliance was formed, strangers and enemies coming together, laying the past to rest, all in the name of defending their home from the coming battles.

In spite of the asperity of it all, Medivh smiled.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: First off, thank you to everyone- we finally broke 100 reviews! I love you all so much for all that you do for me. Secondly, I don't think you understand how long I have been waiting to write this chapter. For the full effect, please refer to Howl by Florence and the Machine. That is all. xx -Skye**

…

Be careful of the curse

That falls on young lovers

It starts so soft and sweet

And turns them to hunters

...

 _ **fourteen**_

There was something oddly calming about this obsession, this desperate determination that drove her. For days on end she refused to eat, refused to sleep, refused to do anything except hunt for any sign whatsoever that they were even remotely close to finding Illidan. For too long now had she existed without purpose, without any sense of direction to guide her. But now, she had her reasons to go on, to keep fighting, to keep breathing in spite of the fact that her heart was little more than a broken mess in her chest, and she would not rest until she had succeeded. She would not let him go, not this time.

She pushed on, and her Watchers followed loyally after her, but by the time the sun set on the third day, they were so far beyond the point of exhaustion that the thought of taking another step was simple too much.

"Warden Shadowsong," Naisha called out, falling into place beside the elder woman. Her eyes were ringed with darkened circles, and she struggled to keep up with Maiev's quick pace. "The Watchers are beyond their breaking point. We need to rest-"

"And grant Illidan an opportunity to gain even more ground?" Maiev interrupted, her words harsh and cold, her eyes narrowed as she stole a glance at her lieutenant. "We have already fallen too far behind."

Naisha felt her hands clench into fists at her sides, the metal of her gauntlets creaking with the motions. She had spent the greater part of her life at Maiev's side, had known for a long time the way her feelings for the Betrayer consumed her, but this was simply too much. She had never seen her like this before, willing to abandoning all else for him, including her own sanity. "We don't even know if we are on the right trail," she tried to reason, but of course madness had no time for reason.

A slow sigh passed through the younger elf's lips as she stopped in her tracks, so abruptly she nearly lost her footing. It took a few moments for Maiev to realize that Naisha was no longer at her side, but eventually she did halt, turning just enough to meet her steady gaze. "We need to rest," Naisha repeated, this time more insistent than she had been a moment ago.

Maiev bared her teeth in a scowl. "Fine," she snapped. "Go ahead, then. I will scout ahead." She turned on her heel then, retreating away from them without looking back.

Naisha repressed a soft growl of frustration, turning away as well to return to the others. The small band of elves paused, exchanging hesitant glances before refocusing their attention on their immediate superior. "We'll camp here," she instructed, nodding slowly as if to confirm her own words.

It was Cordana that spoke out, a deep frown pulling her elongated brows together. "What of Warden Shadowsong?" She asked. Seeing the painful expression that crossed Naisha's face, she instantly regretted the question.

But Naisha only bowed her head, her long hair falling forward to shield her face. "She will continue her hunt."

...

Maiev had long since gotten used to feeling hopeless. From the first time she had realized that Illidan Stormrage would never love her even half as much as she wanted him to, her life had been measured in all of the things that would never work out the way she wanted.

She was feeling that now, that same dull sense of dread that settled in upon her chest and made her doubt every step that she took. Naisha's words weighed heavily upon her. Maybe she didn't have the slightest idea what she was doing. Maybe she didn't have the slightest where Illidan was, or what he was planning.

And yet, she couldn't bring herself to stop. Because this was all she had left. Illidan was all she had left.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, she came to a slow stop and ran a trembling hand through her pale hair. She felt as though her entire life was crumbling down around her all over again, but this time she was on her own, and she had no idea how she could possibly manage to pick up the pieces. She tried to shake away those thoughts, but they were so consuming she could hardly stand it. It reminded her far too much of who she had been once, a scared little girl, a child unable to defend herself or her heart.

Just as she was beginning to think she might never escape this feeling for the rest of her life, and the urge to collapse on the ground and shed all of the tears she had been forcing back was becoming nearly too much to resist, Maiev heard the sound of quiet footsteps approaching from the brush. Snapping back into herself, she abandoned all emotions, her ears twitching as she whirled around to scan her surroundings. At first, she saw nothing, and she almost allowed herself to believe it had been nothing more than a trick of the mind, her madness and desperation creating things that had never really been there at all.

But the instant Maiev began to let her guard down, the sound returned, and this time when she spun around she found herself standing face to face with a great, towering demon. Any attempt to cry out died in her lungs, her voice hitching in her throat as she struggled to free the umbra crescent from where it had been strapped across her back. And yet, something stalled her movements, something kept her from jumping into attack, something kept her frozen in place, and as she looked closer she realized that she recognized this creature, had long since memorized the swirling shapes of the bright tattoos that littered his skin.

For the slightest second, all of her anger fell away, leaving only shock and this strange sense of sadness in its place. "Illidan?" She asked softly, unable to stop her eyes from going wide.

The man before her did little more then bow his head, the horns that now protruded from his forehead weighing the motion down. "Why am I not surprised that you found me?"

His words and the complete lack of emotion in them gave Maiev the ammunition she needed to shed her weakness and reclaim her burning rage. "I promised you forever," she retorted, but the words were icy instead of endearing.

Illidan said nothing to that, just stood there watching her with that blank stare, watching the way her blood red aura flickered and danced before his eyes, flaring up with each heavy breath that she took. When the silence had stretched on for too long between them, he murmured lowly, "You know I will not go back."

"I wasn't going to offer you a choice," Maiev growled. Straightening up, she tightened her grip on her infamous blade and leapt into battle. Illidan was quick to dodge her attack, taking up his own pair of glaives as he turned to face her once more. He felt uneasy on his feet, not quite acclimated to the way the wings and horns interrupted his balance and altered his movements.

But there was no time for uncertainty in his actions, not when Maiev was staring him down with lust for his blood clear on her face and her weapon swinging as she charged him down again. Once, in a time so long ago it was hard to remember, he had been able to predict her every move. It was Illidan that had trained her in the first place, had taught her how to properly wield her weapon, had taught her where to stand and where to move. Now, however, she was unpredictable. Reckless and frenzied, taking chances that might have cost her head if she were not so well-practiced.

"I am going to end this," Maiev growled, lifting her voice to be heard over the sound of their blades clashing, the loud clamor that filled the silence of the night.

In spite of everything, it all brought this dull feeling of pain to Illidan's chest. This girl before him was nothing now but a living ghost, encased in her polished steel coffin, brandishing her venomous words and her hate like they might somehow manage to bring her back to life. Stepping to the side to escape another assault, Illidan crossed the glaives in front of him, managing to latch the curve of her blade on them and using the hold to yank her in closely. "What happened to you, Maiev?" He asked of her. "What happened to that innocent little girl I used to know?"

Baring her teeth, Maiev twisted the umbra crescent free and retreated away from him. "You happened!" She cried, her voice raised in her frantic state. "You killed that girl when you took everything from me. You broke my heart, Illidan. You offered me hope of love, and then ripped it all away from me, because I was only ever second best. And yet in all this time, you have never shown any remorse." By now, her chest was rising and falling with each gasping breath. She had lowered her weapon to her side, opting instead to stare at him with widened eyes, so clearly trying to fight off tears that he wouldn't have been able to see her cry anyway. "Tell me, Illidan. Can you honestly say you ever loved me?"

For a long time, Illidan could only stare at her, his vision following the outline of her essence. For so many years, he had watched and memorized that light, and in time that was all she had become to him, just this burning energy that would destroy him if it could, and he realized in that moment that he had somehow forgotten how she had looks before she became that. He tried to recall her face, her eyes, the curve of her lips, but the images had been replaced now with blinding red.

At last, he dropped his hands to his sides, his wings flicking idly behind him. "No," he whispered, and just like that any chance Maiev had of ever hoping to piece herself back was stolen from her once and for all. She felt her grip on reality slipping, along with her grip on the umbra crescent as it fell from her hand. All at once, she let go of all that she had held onto for the last ten thousand years. That last sliver of hope, to which she had been clinging, was ripped away, and as she felt her heart unraveling within her, Maiev collapsed to her knees before him.

"Because of _her_?" She whispered hoarsely. The sound of her own vulnerability was the final straw, the breaking point. She had forced herself to be strong for so long, but she was losing control of herself, breaking down as the illusion she has hidden behind was ruined and she was left to face the dark reality that was truly, really had nothing left at all.

But weakness was not something that Maiev was used to, not since she had cast out that part of herself. She had traded in her innocence for vengeance and hate, and she could do so again. Taking a long, shaky breath, she pushed herself up to her feet and narrowed her eyes at him, clung to the anger that she could control, instead of the heartbreak that controlled her. "Because of Tyrande?" She repeated, noting the way he flinched as she spat out the name like poison. "I don't see her here now, Illidan. Do you? No! She's home with your brother, where she has always wanted to be." Her voice wavered as she watched the way his expression contorted, as she broke his heart just as he had always done to her, but she forced herself to continue on. "Do you really think she will ever love you like you love her? Like I have loved you?"

"I would rather be alone with my love for her than pretend to feel even a fraction of that for you," he hissed back abruptly, trying to block out the sting of her words.

Maiev visibly recoiled, as though he has reached out and smacked her across the face. She almost wished he had; surely the physical pain would have hurt far less. "You would not be standing here speaking with me if there was not some part of you that cares," she tried, but the words tasted hollow, like she was trying far too hard to convince herself.

Illidan extended his hands over his shoulder to slip the glaives back into place between his wings, lifting his chin in defiance of her pleas. "Well," he retorted coolly, "perhaps that part of me was left imprisoned in the Barrows."

He turned away then, turned his back on her so that he wouldn't have to endure watching the way her vibrant flame kept flickering before him like it wanted nothing more than to go out. Maiev felt her tears break free at last, rolling down her cheeks in ugly streams. "Illidan," she stammered out, extending a hand like she honestly expected him to turn back and take it, like any of this had ever had any hope of working out for her.

But he never so much as threw a glance in her direction. "Leave it alone, Maiev," he muttered, the words etched with bitterness and nearly inaudible. "It's over."

She allowed her hand to fall back against her side, stayed where she was and watched him walk away. But she knew in her heart, or whatever may have remained of it, that his words could not have been further from the truth. No, this was far from over. This would never be over, not until she had driven her blade through his heart, just so he could know a shred of the pain that he had inflicted upon her.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Well, I don't know about you, but my heart is pretty much broken for all of these poor babies. Ugh. Why did I pick such a sad fandom? Also, this chapter is ungodly long. Here is the usual shout out for everyone that had stood by me thus far. I can only hope I will continue to have such amazing support in the future. -Skye xx**

 **...**

 _ **fifteen**_

The anticipation in the air was so thick Tyrande swore she could feel it filling her lungs with each breath that she took. The sky was streaked with shades of grey, a fitting overcast to match the undeniable feeling of dread that permeated around the unlikely group of allies. Pushing a trembling hand through her long and tangled hair, she stared out over the edge of Mount Hyjal at the forest below. Somewhere behind her, Malfurion and Thrall were locked in a deep conversation. The human girl Jaina had yet to show herself.

But Tyrande was frozen in place, trying desperately to keep her breathing steady, to keep herself from giving in to the panic that seemed to have taken up residence in her chest. She tried to tell herself that she should not have been so unnerved, that they had fought the Legion once before with far less preparation than this, but no amount of rationality could ease the stress that she felt, because she knew that there was still a distinct possibility that they would fail, and then all would be lost.

A sudden hand on her shoulder caused her to flinch, and even when she turned her head to see Malfurion standing at her side, she did not relax her tensed muscles. Malfurion must have sensed this, for he drew his brows together into a small frown. "I wished to speak to you," he said slowly, allowing his hand to fall away.

"Then speak," she replied evenly, her gaze fixated straight ahead once more. "Our time is dwindling, so do try to keep it brief."

Malfurion closed his eyes, felt his hands clench and unclench at his sides, let a hiss of a breath escaped through his gritted teeth. "Why must you push me away, Tyrande? For all of my life, I have loved and adored you, cherished you, held your wellbeing and happiness above all others. And I never doubted that you returned those affections fully. But now..." He trailed off, shaking his head a little.

Tyrande swallowed hard, wrapping her arms around herself. "You have been absent for so long," she murmured quietly. The high priestess very rarely showed her emotions, but she knew that they were evident now I'm the way that her voice shook. "You say that you have loved me all this time, and I believe you, but it does not change the fact that i have been alone all this time."

Malfurion let out a low sigh. He wanted little else but to pull her into his arms, to kiss her and tell her that he would never leave her alone again. But something told him that wasn't what she wanted, at least not now, and as important as salvaging whatever remained of their love may have been, time was far too short, and he had an army to prepare. So he turned away, left her there with her misery and pain and regret, and Tyrande didn't even try to make him stay.

As soon as Malfurion fell back into place beside Thrall, the air before them shimmered and shifted, and a moment later Jaina Proudmoore appeared in what had been empty space only a second before. "Sorry I'm late," she breathed, her cheeks flushed as she pushed her golden blonde hair away from her face. Her azure eyes darted from the towering elf to the familiar orc that was watching her intently. Thrall gave into the urge to shift closer to her, close enough that their hands were brushing, that he could entwine her small fingers in his own and try to offer some sense of comfort, however small it may have been. At the feeling of his calloused fingertips against her skin, she shivered a little, but never once attempted to pull away.

Shaking her head a little, she lifted her chin and refocused her attention on the pressing matter at hand. "It's just as we feared," she said softly. "The demon troops are making their way towards the mountain now. We don't have much time."

Malfurion opened his mouth to respond, but promptly snapped it shut in surprised when Tyrande appeared at his side. "We need a plan," she said, her narrowed eyes darting between the others, lingering for a moment too long on her husband, as though daring him to speak up.

Taking a slow, steadying breath, he gave a nod. "Ten thousand years ago," he told the others, "we night elves faced the Burning Legion. Although the world was left in pieces from the Sundering, we were left with the protection of Nordrassil, our great World Tree. Through it, we were granted immortality and power." Here he paused, hoeing his head a little. "Now, at last, it is time we gave that power back."

An audible gasp fell from Tyrande's lips, drawing all attention towards her. "You realize that we will age as these mortals do?" She stammered out, her eyes widened in disbelief. So many years of watching, waiting and protecting, and now he saw it fit to sacrifice all that she had fought for. But if it would save them and all that they loved, wouldn't the sacrifice be worth it? A chance to live at all was better than a chance to live forever.

As if he could sense her thoughts, Malfurion placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. "If pride gives us pause, then perhaps we have lived long enough."

With his words hanging heavily in the air around them, the elder elf turned his attention back on their allies. "I will head to the summit and prepare." His gaze flickered to Tyrande one last time, looking like he desperately wanted to say something else to her. But in the end, he only turned away, giving a slight nod before walking away, leaving the others behind.

Jaina allowed a small sigh to pass through her lips, pushing a hand through her long blonde hair. "If you and your Sentinels can provide us with support, Thrall and I can do all in our power to delay Archimonde and his ascent. I doubt we have enough soldiers to stop him, but at the very least we could slow him enough to buy you and Malfurion some time."

Tyrande tilted her head a little, a hint of surprise lacing her features. That these people who had never met her before would be so willing to risk their own lives, to put in their faith and align themselves with complete strangers was something she had not been expecting. It had caught her off guard, but it filled her with a sense of hope that had not entirely been there before.

"A bold plan, girl," she said, to which Jaina merely lowered her chin, hoping her hair might shield the slight blush that had crept over her cheeks. Sensing her trepidation, Tyrande reached out to rest a hand lightly against Jaina's arm. "Perhaps I...misjudged you and your kin. Forgive me, if you would. These have been trying times for all. I have no doubt that your struggles are just as severe as those of my people."

Jaina lifted her gaze, her eyes rimmed with the undeniable threat of tears. "Harder than I care to admit," she murmured lowly, blinking hard to try and block out the swarm of memories that threatened to claw at her mind and drag her down with them. Swallowing hard, she forced a small smile to cross her lips, and even if it was bleak and pathetic, it was a smile nonetheless. "But," she went on, her eyes straying to the place where Thrall stood beside her. "I have found that in the darkest of times, the help you need often comes from the most unlikely of places. I wish to stand alongside you both not only because it is the only chance we have to win, but because it is the right thing to do."

Tyrande offered a tiny smile of her own. "May Elune guide you both. We will need her now more than ever."

…

In spite of the fear that radiated through every inch of her body, Jaina held her ground, clutching tightly to her staff as she stared out at the horizon. Any moment now, the Legion would come. She could feel the ground trembling with their approach, could feel her breaths leaving her lungs in shaky, uneven breaths.

Still, she would not back down. Could not, even if she wanted to. These creatures were responsible for the destruction of her home; they were the reason Dalaran now lay in ruins. They were the reason that people she had loved and cared for were now little more than bones. They were the reason that Arthas was… Swallowing hard, she shook her head to clear away those thoughts. They had no place here. She had already done her mourning, had already done her grieving for him, and she had long since accepted that no amount of tears would bring him back. '

Killing demons wouldn't bring him back either, she thought, but at least it might offer her some solace. They had taken everything from her- or so she had thought. But now she had found new things, a new home, new allies, and the potential to rebuild her life from the rubble left behind, and she would not allow them to take that as well.

Finally, they came. They came in waves, demons and undead and all manner of beasts, swarming the skyline, barreling towards her and her soldiers. "Lady Proudmoore," came a voice from her side, undeniably trembling and yet still somehow strong. From the corner of her eye, she saw her guard freeing his sword from his scabbard. "What are you orders?"

Jaina narrowed her eyes as she watched the approaching onslaught of monsters. "Take down as many as we can. We must buy the others as much time as possible."

Taking in an uneven breath, the soldier nodded. "For Lordaeron," he murmured, the words tinged with pain.

Jaina let out a slow sigh of her own, shaking her head a little. "No," she replied. "For Theramore."

And with that, she leapt into action, along with all that stood beside her. She lost herself in a whirlwind flurry of fire and ice, her movements somehow both overly calculated and yet the most natural thing in the world. This was the reason she had devoted her life to learning the practices of magic. This was what she had worked for all these years. Being a mage was not merely about hiding away with tomes and spellbooks, but about the opportunity to unleash that power upon her foes, and Jaina had never felt so empowered as she did in that moment.

The fight raged on around her, the cadence overwhelming, bodies falling on both sides. Jaina felt herself growing weary, pulling mana in from all around her and channeling it out again just as quickly. Then, suddenly, through the smoke and fog and settling dust, her eyes fell upon the massive, towering form of Archimonde himself. His footsteps sent tremors through the very earth, his burning stare fixated directly on her as he closed the distance.

A chorus of dark laughter echoed from within him as he glared down at her miniscule form at his feet. "You are very brave to stand against me, little girl," he bellowed, his hand clenched into a fist and his lips curved back into a sneer. "If only your countrymen had been so bold. Perhaps then I would have taken even more pleasure in destroying them."

Jaina choked back the pain that welled in her heart as she thought of all that she had lost, all that she still might lose by the time this was over and done. She focused on that feeling, that hollow emptiness, that agonizing ache of loss, and she lifted her chin in a glower of her own. "Is talking all you demons do?" She spat out icily. Before he had a chance to reply, she had slammed her staff into the ground and disappeared from Archimonde's sight.

She reappeared just outside the main hall of Thrall's base, leaning on her weapon and panting for air. In an instant his hands were upon her, steadying her, pulling her in, his eyes taking in every inch of her for any sign of harm. There was something else there too, some unidentified emotion just dying to claw its way out to the surface. The blonde smiled up at him, this growing notion in her chest that when all of this was over, if both of them were still breathing, there would be much to discuss, because in spite of all their distances and the extensive, hateful history of their people, she dreaded the idea of being apart from him again.

The scene was much the same. The orcs fought bravely, standing alongside what few soldiers Jaina had been able to save from her own base, but the demons were strong and endless, and soon they too lay in ruins, bodies strewn across the battleground and smoke licking at the sky. Jaina took in the sickening display with widened eyes and panic welling in her chest, backing up until there was nowhere to go, throwing a desperate glance at Thrall. He met her stare for only a second before his frantic gaze darted to the side, terror creeping into his eyes.

"Jaina, look out-" He bellowed, but before she had even managed to turn her head enough to see the demon about to tear into her, Thrall had knocked her over to the ground, gripping her tightly and shielding her from any harm. Yelping as she collided with the dirt, the human clutched onto him tightly, looking up at him in shock. Allowing himself to relax into her for only a few brief seconds, he let out a sigh of relief. "In case we don't manage to survive all of this…" Trailing off, he decided to leave his words at that, ending his sentence instead by closing the distance between them in a sudden kiss.

He pulled away far too soon, leaving her started and frazzled and completely forgetting that they were lying in the middle of a war zone. Thrall, too, seemed unphased by this, and his touch was surprisingly gentle as he brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "Get us out of here."

…

The arrow soared free from her bow, sinking directly into the heart of her target just as she heard the sound of a familiar voice calling out to her. Tyrande whipped her head around, her gaze falling onto Shandris. The younger elf was backed up to a tree, agents of the Legion closing in on her from every direction. Yanking roughly on the reins of her saber, Tyrande whirled around and started towards her, unleashing a blaze of arrows as she closed in upon her, reaching out to grab her arm and pull her to safety. They barely even slowed their pace enough for Shandris to settle in onto Ash'alah, throwing her arms tightly around the High Priestess' waist.

"We are finished, Tyrande," Shandris told her desperately. "Too many have fallen already- we should retreat and save those that are still lucky enough to draw breath-"

"I told Malfurion we would buy him time," the older elf cut her off, tugging on the leather straps to veer the striped saber to the side. "So long we are still standing, we will continue to drive them back. If we are to go down, we will take as many of them with us as we possibly can."

Nodding her understanding, Shandris repositioned herself so that she might draw her arrows and release them into any target she could. She and Tyrande were an unstoppable force, deadly and dangerous and guided by the protection of their goddess as they worked their way back to the peak of the mountain, where the great World Tree twisted into the sky above. They gave their all in thwarting off the demons and undead, but they were sickeningly overwhelmed, and even Tyrande herself was beginning to fear that this might really be the end of it all.

"Shandris, hold on to me," she demanded, gripping tightly at the reins of her cherished nightsaber. Just as Ash'alah skidded to a halt, the air before them shimmered, seeming to part and contort before their very eyes in some eerie and unnatural way, and a mere second later, Jaina and Thrall materialized before them. Tyrande gave a sharp nod to the both of them. "Just in time," she huffed. "I was beginning to get worried."

Ignoring the severity of the moment, Jaina flashed a small smile, one she hoped might be reassuring. "Have some faith, would you?"

The dark haired elf narrowed her glowing eyes. "I have faith only in my goddess and myself-"

Her proclamation was cut short by the booming voice of Archimonde himself, carrying on the wind, echoing so loudly Tyrande thought that it must have been able to reach every corner of Kalimdor, and perhaps even what lay beyond that. "At last," the powerful demon master called out, "the World Tree is ours for the taking. Witness the end, mortals! The final hour has come." His words were swallowed up in his own dark laughter, his searing eyes transfixed on the towering tree as he extended a hand as if he might simply reach out and tear it straight from its roots.

Jaina choked back her fear and reservations, but not before she was able to stop herself from reaching out to snatch up Thrall's hand in her own. With the other, she held onto her staff until her knuckles stood out, stark white against the pallor of her flesh. She closed her eyes as tightly as she could, sucked in a greedy breath and drew from every source of mana possible as she focused her energy into casting her third and final teleportation spell.

This one landed them a ways away, precariously balanced on a great bluff with the entirety of Nordrassil looming against the distance. Tyrande all but spilled off of Ash'alah, stumbling to her feet in what might have been the least graceful movement she had ever made. As soon as she regained her footing, she moved to the edge of the cliff, to the place where Malfurion stood, watching and waiting for the precise moment, clutching the horn of Cenarius in his hands. He saw only the flicker of movement from the corner of his eye, but couldn't be bothered to spare so much as a glance in his wife's direction. It mattered not, anyway. She had made it clear that any affections that might have once existed between them were long gone. Staring out at what very well may have been the end of the world, and still the supposed love of his life did not give pause to atone for what he now knew with certainty that she had done. For all of her holiness, she showed not even an ounce of remorse, not for slaughtering her own people and certainly not for her tryst with Illidan.

"We have held him back as long as we can," Tyrande said, falling into place at his side. Her tone was rushed and breathless, but held no more devotion than it had the last time they had spoken. "Were you successful?" Instead of replying, Malfurion simply gave a small nod, and a moment later he had lifted the horn to his lips. Letting out a breath, the deep, reverberating sound echoed through the air, catching a breeze to carry it back towards the World Tree.

All at once, there came a sudden burst of blurring light and movement as an infinite number of fuzzy blue lights sprung forward from the branches of Nordrassil and the forests below. From where she stood behind the pair of elves, Jaina watched with widened eyes and parted lips as they hovered in the air, swaying in the wind. "What are they?" She breathed, her tone giddy with excitement and hopefulness.

It was Tyrande who answered, surprising Jaina with the unexpected gentleness of her tone, when all she had displayed before was callousness, disdain and the kind of hardness the human girl imagined came only with the length of lifespan that she had lived. "They are the wisps," the priestess responded, her tone giving away what could only be described as awe. "Spirits of elves that have died."

The group of companions stared on as the wisps rose up together, their translucent glow catching the rays of the sun in a brilliant display of flickering illumination. And then, in perfect unison, they descended upon Archimonde, burning into him with a force far beyond comprehension, beyond any power this world could possibly grasp. They danced around his massive form, searing into his flesh, knocking him back until he staggered and fell to his knees, and then, in a blinding flash that blotted all of their vision, he imploded into white light.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Well, guys. We did it. We made it to the ending. I know that I've said it before, but it can never be said too many times- you all are the reason I keep doing this. You are the reason I keep going when it gets hard, when I lose motivation, when I become convinced that all of this is meaningless. You all are the reason I push through, and there simply aren't enough ways to thank you for that.**

 **A special shoutout to Blame the Priest, for being both an outstanding beta and friend, and dealing with me every time I go into crisis mode. I love you, Dearheart xx**

 **Don't forget to check out the sneak peek for the third and (possibly) final book in the trilogy, Retribution. I look forward to hearing from each of you again soon!**

 **Love, always. -Skye**

…

The roots of the tree would heal, in time, and just as it would, so would the scars left behind on the hearts of those that had suffered greatest at the hands of the Legion. With their great foe vanquished once more, the Kaldorei were free to celebrate their victory alongside their new and unlikely allies. The casualties had been great, but those that still stood would not allow their fallen comrades deaths to go unnoticed, nor would they wallow and waste away their own lives that had been paid for with the blood of their companions.

Nordrassil was left mostly ruined, the earth scorched and the small village all but decimated, but it was sanctuary enough for the time being. A short distance away, Jaina stood alone, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she stared out idly at the sky that stretched on above her. A new beginning, that's what she had told herself all those days ago, when she had gripped the railing of her ship as it carried her away from all that she had ever known. Now, she had done all that she had ever set out to do, and all that was left was to go on, to build a new life from the ashes and dust left in the Legion's wake. She had never once imagined herself here, without Dalaran...without Arthas...but she knew that dwelling on the things that she had lost would never allow her to move forward.

A new beginning. Don't look back. Perhaps it wouldn't be easy; likely it would be the hardest thing she had ever done, but really, it was the only choice that she had.

"Need some company?"

At the sound of the voice, Jaina gave a start, turning her head to see Thrall approaching, a soft smile upon his face. She returned the gesture, though her own was much more strained, and a blush tinted her cheeks as she recalled the unexpected kiss they had shared on the battlefield. As he came to stand at her side, she returned her attention to some undeterminable point in the distance.

"It's strange, isn't it?" She squeaked after a long moment of silence, her voice rising to an unnaturally high octave.

A slight frown pulled the orc's brows together. "What's that?"

Jaina tilted her head to the side, stealing a glance at him from the corner of her eye. "For my entire life, I was taught to hate you and your kind. I was taught that orcs were mindless killing machines, that you couldn't trust them even long enough to blink. But you…" She paused as her voice caught in her throat, trying as best she could to choke back the sudden threat of tears that seemed to have sprung up in her the corners of her eyes. Turning to face him fully, she reached out to take both of his hands in her own, marveling at how small she looked compared to him. Looking up through her lashes, she swallowed hard and began again. "You are nothing like I was taught to believe. You...you saved my life, Thrall. You are-"

Whatever else she was going to say, the words never made it past her lips, for at that moment he yanked her in, cutting her off completed as he slung an arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to her lips, slow and drawn out, a silent profession of all the things he wished for her to know. When at last they parted, he bent down to rest their foreheads against each other. "You are the single most incredible person I have ever met, Jaina Proudmoore," he murmured softly.

A shiver ran up her spine at that. She felt the memory of Arthas trying to claw at the back of her mind, but she was quick to push it aside. The Arthas that she had known, that she had loved with all of her heart, was gone. He was dead, even if his body was still free to roam and wreak havoc in the world. He had already stolen so much from her, and she would be damned herself before she would allow him to steal away any chance at future happiness. Maybe it would take time for the wounds on her heart to heal, but she knew that someday she would be able to love again, and she knew that this bond that she had created with Thrall was one that could not be disregarded. They had seen each other through the darkest of times, and that could not be forgotten.

Tilting her head back, she smiled up at him, giving his hands a slight squeeze. But her smile was quick to fade away, replaced by a sudden frown that creased her forehead. "What will happen to us now?" She mumbled, her gaze lowering to the ground between their feet. Thrall's silence was enough to prompt her to go on. "Our kin are sworn enemies. I doubt a day will ever come when orcs and humans will cease their hatred of each other. This...us...we could never-"

Once more he interrupted her, this time catching her chin in his calloused fingers and forcing her to meet his gaze once more. "In a matter of weeks, we have overcome years of loathing held onto by our people. I will stand beside you any time you may ask it of me. No matter what the future may hold, you and I will always be allies."

Jaina allowed her smile to return, twice as bright as it had been before, and rose up onto her tiptoes to kiss him once again. The rest of it all, she decided, would fall into place in time. For this moment, she was glad just to have him there with her, and to know that no matter what this new beginning might hold for her, she would never have to face it alone.

…

Tyrande knew that she had accomplished many things in her life, things that she should have regarded with some sense of pride. She had helped to save the entire world from the destructive path of the Legion not once, but twice, and in between she had held an entire group of frightened and weakened people back to their full potential. She had gained the favor of her goddess, had found a man that was unwaveringly devoted to her.

And yet, in the wake of their success, she felt nothing but this undeniable emptiness. It filled her heart, spread through her chest, seized her lungs and made it hard to breathe. Because for all that she had accomplished, she felt that she had nothing whatsoever to show for it. Her homeland was once again ablaze with demon fires. More lives had been taken than she cared to think of, some of which had been at her own hands. She might as well have lost Malfurion altogether; he couldn't even stand to be around her, knowing what she had done to him, knowing that she had lied to his face and damaged the sanctity of their marriage forever. Surely, her goddess was none too pleased with her either, recounting the things that she had done.

And all for what? To save Illidan? Illidan was gone, likely never to be seen again. Her last sight of him was still burned into her mind, the great horns and wings with which he had been cursed. He had traded his very soul to keep his promise to her. She had not succeeded in saving Illidan at all. She had only left him even more damned.

No, Tyrande had truly lost everything. With each of her crimes laid out before her, she could see that clearly. She had lost it everything, and now all that was left to do, was to atone.

The thought had barely formed in her mind when she felt a sudden hand upon her shoulder, firm and heavy, and when she turned her head to the side, she saw Malfurion hovering behind her, his features carefully composed into a blank expression. Her heart thudded away inside her chest, a loud and rapid beat that she was certain even he could hear. Every muscle in her body tensed as she waited for him to say something, anything at all. Perhaps something to ensure her that he didn't hate her, not really.

Because standing there before him she realized that maybe she did need him. And maybe that was okay, needing someone. Maybe a part of life was realizing that it couldn't be lived all alone. And after everything that had happened, all that she had endured, after just barely managing to survive what very well may have been the end of the world, Malfurion was still the one standing there at her side. When she had nothing left, when she had lost it all, Malfurion was still there.

All at once, Tyrande felt herself losing control of all the strength and coldness and distance that had kept her together all these years. She felt the walls she had built around herself come crashing down, felt her facade of isolation fall away, and she collapsed forward into Malfurion's chest. His arms moved to encircle her, clutching her slender frame to his body, his face buried into her long strands of dark hair. He said nothing, not even when he felt her quiver with silent tears, not even when he felt those same tears wet his shirt. He only continued to hold her, and hoped that perhaps she might feel even an ounce of the love he felt for her, and the pain that it had brought him.

After a long while, she pulled away, just enough to tilt her head back and meet his gaze. "I am sorry," she breathed, her voice hoarse and her cheeks dampened. "I didn't mean for everything to get so carried away-"

Shushing her, Malfurion lifted a hand to her face, using his thumb to wipe away the rivulets of tears. "My feelings for you have never faltered, Tyrande," he murmured, taking her face in both of her hands and forcing her to lock stares with his own. "No matter what has happened between us, my love for you is as strong now as it was ten thousand years ago."

Blinking for a moment longer than necessary, she sucked in a shaky breath. "But after everything I have done…"

Malfurion's own gaze darted to the side. "We have all made regrettable decisions," he muttered, almost more to himself than her, and for a brief second she could think of nothing but Illidan, and the way he had looked chained and imprisoned, alone and filled with hate for the people that he should have loved.

She pushed away those particular memories, focusing on her husband once more. "Yes," she murmured in agreement. "But perhaps it is never too late to seek atonement."

…

When the first light of morning graced the darkened sky, Maiev staggered back into the small camp that the Watchers had set up, all but dragging her umbra crescent behind her. Her steps were slow, her muscles aching, but the pain she felt in her body could scarcely compare to the pain that resounded in her heart.

But even still, after the terrible scene that had unfolded between Illidan and herself, this feeling was not one of hopelessness. Instead, there was a new sense of determination and devotion that had blossomed within her. Illidan may have been gone once again, but she had this unshakable feeling that this was not the last she would see of him. He could tell her that it was over all he liked, but she knew the truth- it would never be over, not really, not for her. She would always love him, no matter how many times he tried to tear her very heart from within her chest and scatter each broken piece out before her very eyes. She would always want him, and if she couldn't have him to keep as her own, then she would have his head. She had caught him once, and she would do it again, and this would be the pattern of their relationship.

And really, that wasn't so bad, was it? Having him for even a few moments, even with their blades drawn, was better than not having him at all, wasn't it? Perhaps she had finally lost her mind completely, but she couldn't be bothered to care. She had no direction, no purpose, nothing left to live for except this endless hunt for someone that would never want her in the way she wanted him. They had that in common, she thought, their passionate, consuming, unreciprocated loves. She and Illidan were not so different after all.

"Warden Shadowsong." The sound of her name drew all of her attention, and when she looked up from the grass, it was to see Naisha standing before her, a careful and concerned expression upon her face. "What happened? Are you alright?"

No, she thought to herself, she was far from alright. She was broken beyond repair, shattered completely by Illidan's words. She was lost and afraid of what was to come. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she had no idea what she was doing. But all she did was give a short nod, forcing herself to straighten up, to square her shoulders and narrow her eyes in a great display of ferocity and defiance, an act to conceal the fractured girl trapped in the cage of her armor.

"I'm fine," she murmured quietly. "Illidan-"

"You caught him?" Naisha asked eagerly, her eyes widening.

Maiev shook her head quickly. "He escaped me," she replied, blatantly ignoring the look of disbelief her lieutenant flashed her. "But no matter," she went on. "Let him run, like the coward that he is."

Naisha's expression shifted quickly, her brows knitting together into a frown. Hesitantly, she asked, "What are we going to do?"

Maiev lifted her chin, a bright fire burning in her silver eyes. In spite of herself and this whole damn mess, she allowed a faint smirk to tug at the corners of her lips. "We're going after him."

The younger elf somehow managed to keep her expression composed, regardless of the pang in her chest, the impulsive intuition that this was a bad idea, that this could only end in pain and heartbreak. Like the dutiful soldier, she nodded once, watching her commander intently. "Should I wake the others?"

"No," Maiev replied softly, turning away. She lifted her gaze to the sky above; it was mostly concealed by the canopy of the trees, but here and there a few patches of stars were able to peek through, and she could see the light of the moon shining down upon them through the cracks in the branches. She had long ago rejected Elune, but every so often it was nice to pretend that perhaps the goddess she had once revered really was there, watching over her and guiding her through the darkness. Like maybe there really was someone waiting to forgive her sin.

"No," she repeated. "I think we can afford to give him a head start."

 _ **end**_


	17. Retribution Sneak Preview

**A/N: As promised, here is the sneak peek for the third book in the Betrayal trilogy. It's been an amazing and crazy ride so far, and I look forward to continuing this intense journey with all the readers that have stood by me through all of this.**

…

"I don't like this."

Kael'thas Sunstrider took a shaky breath, felt the stale and dusty air fill his lungs, and let it out in a sigh far too uncertain for his own liking. Pushing his thick mess of golden hair away from where it had fallen into his face, he tilted his chin up in a show of confidence, arrogance, forcing them to show regardless of his own trepidation. "Nonsense," he scoffed. "This place may lack the charm of Quel'thalas, but it will suffice for now."

The dark haired elf at his side cast a skeptical glance in his direction. "I admire your optimism, Kael," Rommath muttered lowly. "But may I remind you that we have no idea what we've gotten ourselves into?"

He was right, of course, a fact that was true more often than Kael cared to admit of his oldest friend and closest confidant. But it was also true that whatever new perils may have awaited them here in this strange and foreboding land, with whatever new allegiances Kael may have formed, it certainly had to be far better than what they had left behind. Even now, he could envision the dark depths of the Dalaran dungeons, a fate that he would have given far more than his loyalty to escape.

"Well," he retorted, letting a short breath pass through his lips. "There isn't much we can do about it now, is there?"

"Right you are, young prince," came a sudden voice, low and hissing, and a moment later the unsettling form of Lady Vashj slinked up beside him. Kael fought off a shiver, stealing a glance at her from the corner of his eye, taking in the mischievous smirk that tugged at her lips. "You have traded your devotion for your liberation from your demise. And I assure you, Lord Illidan does not take kindly to betrayal…"


End file.
